


The After-After Party

by cloven



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And Steve's having none of that, Anxiety Disorder, Comfort, Except that he is..., F/M, Flirtatious Tony, M/M, Open Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Snarky Tony, Social Anxiety, Virgin Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 40,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloven/pseuds/cloven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war changed Tony, and not all for the better. Steve could help, if Tony would let him. But Tony isn't the only one with problems, and as the two forge a post-war friendship, they find out that having some understanding company could be beneficial to them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bright lights. Music. Champagne. Tony Stark was as adaptable as he was intelligent, and he felt just as much ease in this world-saving after-party as he did in the confines of his basement, surrounded by his beloved projects. Or, you know, in his suit. 

His other suit.

He straightened his tie, shooting off half-cocked white smiles to the men and women who looked longingly in his direction. Wishing they knew him. Wishing they were him. Wishing they could sleep with him, although he barely had time to spare them an eyefuck and a handshake before a new couple stepped into his wake. Besides, Pepper. And where was Pepper, anyway? A quick glance around the room found her chatting with some of the big wigs of a neighboring corporation. He preferred her most displeased frowns to the unnatural cookie-cutter smile she was giving them. Her laugh drifted across the room, sharp-edged and fake.

He shuddered, and found another couple of hands shoved in his direction. He shook them hastily, and they were replaced by five more. Ten more, as people got tired of waiting their turn. Pats on the back, congratulating him, mindlessly unaware of his bruises. His breathing sped up. He was used to this. People had always wanted to be in his shadow. This was fine. Fine. ...Not fine. His smile wavered only slightly, and nobody seemed to notice the way he shouldered sideways, trying to ease out of the crowd, heartbeat pumping in his ears. The crowd schooled hungrily, following him. He tried to think of something, some reason why he'd need to leave. Bathroom break? But he'd just gotten there... His brain shifted into overdrive, unhelpfully supplying all the physical ways to maneuver out of this situation, but none of the social ways.

A push of a button, and he could fly out of there...

"Mr. Stark," a familiar voice, inches from his ear, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "A moment of your time?" The crowd faltered, backing away to make room, and Tony felt a firm hand on his arm, pulling him away. Away to lean on the bar, apparently. He heard footsteps as a few people attempted to approach, but apparently thought better of it. Tony suspected it had something to do with the tall blond guarding over him. He focused his vision on his glass.

They stood in blessed silence for a while, Tony downing two glasses of champagne, before the question came.

"You okay?"

Of course, he had to ask. _Captain America_. Boy scout extraordinaire, feeding the poor, saving the puppies, helping the weak. Except Tony wasn't poor, puppyish, or weak, and he didn't need Steve's help. "Just fine. World's saved. People are happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you look like you're about to deck someone?" Steve said easily, and Tony laughed, only then realizing that his easy smile had faltered somewhere along the way. His jaw felt stiff.

"Yeah, well. Some of these people deserve to be decked."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Steve said, and Tony could hear that certain boyish innocence behind his statement. That feigned boyish innocence, that said he knew exactly where big money came from, and it wasn't from saving puppies. Tony's smile widened.

But his heart had fallen back into a regular rhythm, which meant that Steve could leave at any time.

Yep.

He tapped the bar with his index finger.

Any time.

"Let's get a real drink," he felt himself say.

Damn, he'd never been able to stand suspense.

He pushed away from the bar. Steve blinked, eyes darting around, confused by the invitation. Was it really so uncharacteristic? They'd fought a war together, been masked superheroes together, but they couldn't hang out? He could see the exact moment it sank in, and the exact moment the internal battle began.

"The champagne here is $1,500 a bottle," he said, "That isn't real enough?"

"Is it?" Tony asked slyly, narrowing his eyes. He resisted putting a price tag on his private stash. Steve wasn't the kind of guy that would appeal to.

"Aren't you supposed to be making a public appearance or something?" Rogers asked haltingly, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Steve. I pay people to worry about that stuff. Besides, I appeared. Now I can disappear."

"What about Pepper?"

Tony felt his chest clench, but only momentarily. Pepper didn't need an escort. He'd see her later that night. "Pepper's a big girl. I'm sure she knows how to tip the limo driver."

Steve frowned, and Tony arched his eyebrows, waiting for the next weak excuse. One. Two. Three.

"Okay, it's decided. Let's go," he said, making his way toward the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because a couple of people have asked me, I want to make it clear that Tony is NOT going to leave Pepper, nor is Pepper going to leave Tony. Steve is "on the side," although I honestly think that term demeans the strength of their relationship. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

"You know, I can't actually get drunk from this," Steve said, knowing full well that Tony had read his file, and definitely already knew.

"Agreed. Barkeep! Another round!" Tony supplied helpfully, his words still sharp, despite the more-than-several drinks already sloshing around in his gullet. Steve wondered how many more drinks until he lost that edge. He had a creeping feeling that maybe drunk Tony was still just as quick-witted as sober Tony, albeit with a little less eye-hand coordination. Which led to his next mental itch... Just how drunk should he let Tony get before he cut the man off?

Let. That was a powerfully wrong word. Nobody _let_ or _made_ Tony do anything. Everyone just sort of argued with him (if the one-way verbal barrage could even be considered arguing), and somehow things eventually turned out okay. Because Tony had been planning on doing the right thing, probably, and just liked jerking everyone around in the meantime. Well, usually. He wasn't sure "right" had anything to do with the binge drinking happening right now.

He was pretty sure he knew exactly what it did have to do with, but he wanted Tony to have at least a couple more drinks in him before he even considered bringing it up. And maybe, you know, be in a more private setting. As the only Avenger in the public eye, it was difficult to find a place where people didn't immediately recognize him. The moment they had walked in the door, half the bar had started glancing over, and Steve had had to shield one drunkard from brazenly approaching their little pow-wow. Tony had seemed more than content to let him steer the man away, which was odd enough on its own.

"-the snake," Tony said, already rising to his feet.

"What?" Steve asked with some concern, snapping out of his thoughts. He braced both hands on the bar.

Tony raised an eyebrow, motioning with an open palm toward the restroom, "Come on, Cap. Didn't your generation coin that phrase?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah," Steve mumbled, relaxing.

Once Tony was out of sight, swaying only slightly as he made his way toward the facilities, Steve picked up the check (no small feat, but thanks to Fury, he had more than enough), and had the barkeep clear their area. And then he waited. And waited.

By the time he began glancing at his watch, the pounding started. He was across the bar in an instant, making his way fluidly around the slow-moving denizens of the night.

"'Bout to piss m'self!" slurred the pounder, hammering on the bathroom door as if it had personally affronted him.

"What's the problem here?" Steve asked. He garnered no pleasure from the way the man had to crane his neck to meet his gaze, although it definitely made diffusing the situation that much easier.

"Been in there forever! 'bout to piss myself!" the man repeated, giving the door a final light swat with an open-fingered palm.

"Let me try," he offered, crowding the man out of the way and pressing one ear against the door. The water was running. He knocked. "Tony? You alive in there?" Silence. He had a brief moment of imagining Stark crawling out a window, escaping him to flee into the night, but shook that off. Tony had invited him here in the first place, right? He couldn't have been that boring. ...Right? No, he had probably passed out or something.

Passed out. Collapsed. Choked on his own vomit. Saved the world, only to die under Steve Rogers' care in a dingy bathroom in some side alley bar. Steve wasn't one to act rashly under the pressure of anxiety, but if he'd been asked later, he couldn't say that pushing the door open, feeling it splinter softly beneath his grip, was exactly his most level-headed moment.

"Tony-" he began, eyes immediately landing on the only dark figure in the brown-stained white room. He was hunched over the sink, blankly watching the water swirl down into the depths of the drain, sweat gathering on his lip and dying his hair dark. Steve tried again, this time gentler, "Tony..."

That seemed to pop him out of it, dark eyes slowly raising up to meet his in the mirror. He blinked once, twice, and that seemed to blink the entire situation away. He opened his mouth, probably to say something sharp-edged and witty, but was cut off by the shuffling scramble of a drunk man elbowing his way over to the toilet.

"And on that delightful note," Tony announced cheerily, patting Steve on the chest as he made his way back out to the bar, "I think I'll call it a night. Mind giving me a lift, oh sober one?"

"Of course not," Steve said, wondering if this was the moment he should say something.

"It's weird having a designated driver I don't have to tip," Tony chuckled, and then shot Steve a curious glance. "I _don't_ have to tip you, right?" He grinned playfully, and Steve felt the moment slip away.

"We'll see," he said, smiling back.


	3. Chapter 3

The car door was cool beneath his forehead, the alcohol warm in his belly. He closed his eyes momentarily, lulled by the gentle rocking of the vehicle going a nice, safe speed through empty streets, and woke up with a start as a hand shook him.

"We're here, Tony."

_Here?_

He had a brief moment of panic, wondering what the situation was. Wondering who shook him awake. Wondering if he needed his suit for this. The hand remained on his shoulder while he got his bearings, heavy and calming, until his vision focused on the nice, familiar sight of his front stoop. He breathed.

"You need some help inside?"

Ah, right. Captain America. His file was right... Man wasn't even the slightest bit tipsy. How lame was that.

"Nah, I'm good," Tony grunted, reaching for the door handle... and missing. Rude.

A shuffle, a heavy, warm pressure as a body leaned over him, popping the car door open, and settling back into his seat. Cool air slid into the car, and he shivered, wondering why it was so important to be _out there_ when it was so nice and warm in here. The door hung in the balance for a moment, and then slowly began closing again. The cool air dissipated, and his eyes slid contentedly closed.

"Oookay, I think you need some help," Steve mumbled to himself, unbuckling them both and getting out of the car. Tony made a sound of protest as his door was opened once again, this time wide, and huddled back into his seat. When hands began pulling at his arms, he huddled back further, splaying back across both of their seats until he was practically horizontal, and planted his foot as high as he could get it.

The hands disappeared with a curse, and Tony cracked an eye open to see Steve brushing dirt off his lapel.

"Jesus, Tony. You may be able to afford to ruin your suits, but this is my only one. Would you just... get out of the car?"

Tony grinned impishly, but when the hands returned, pulling him up and out into the cold, he didn't resist.

"Could've just left me there," he offered, leaning heavily against him as Steve shut the door.

"It's _my_ car," Steve said. Tony raised a brow. "Well, my rental, and you still couldn't stay there, unless you felt like coming home with-" A sudden pause. Silence. Tony grinned wider, willing his other eye open. This was a game he was familiar with. New players, sure, but familiar.

"Home with you?" More silence, heavy, and he knew Steve had been hoping he'd missed it. Freu... Freudy... something. A slip. How could he have missed it? "I wouldn't resist," he said playfully.

"That's because you're drunk," Steve said firmly, and Tony could feel the muscles beneath his hands stiffening as he clung on for dear life. Steve's steps were already really long, and he'd just increased the pace. It made it really hard to concentrate on flirting with him.

Just as he'd thought of the perfect retort, his front door flew open, and Pepper raced out.

"Where... _where_ have you been?! I've been calling for hours! I can't believe you just walked out... No, scratch that, I _can_ believe it, but still, Tony! You have responsibilities! Or you could've at least warned me that you were gonna skip out, and I would've prepared a speech!"

"He was supposed to give a speech?" Steve asked blankly, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yes! God, am I the only one who reads the invitations?"

"I'm sure you did fantastic," Tony said, reaching up to pat her shoulder, but as she was still about four feet away, missing completely.

"And you're _drunk_?"

He steeled himself for the usual slew of disappointed insults, but instead, she rounded on Steve.

"Aren't you supposed to be the golden boy? How could you just... disappear with him like that? To go drinking, no less!" she stopped, turning away from them, one hand gripping the back of her head against the oncoming tension headache.

"Ma'am..." Steve began, but she cut him off, holding a hand up between them.

"It doesn't matter. It's done. I'm going to be up all night putting out fires... again, so just... take him inside, if he's sober enough to know how the doors work." With that, she sped off, back inside, hands clenched against her thighs as she mumbled beneath her breath. Tony smiled broadly. He definitely preferred this to cookie-cutter smiles.

"What're you smiling about?" Steve asked, gathering Tony up again (he'd managed to slide down a little while they were being reprimanded), and heading to the point where Pepper had disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

As it turned out, Tony was, indeed, sober enough to know how the doors worked. Which was good, really, because there didn't seem to be any door knobs. Or doors. There were just these oddly-colored walls that shifted whenever Tony pushed on glowing parts of them. As they stepped into the so-ultra-modern-that-modern-didn't-know-what-hit-it domicile, he felt like he'd woken up in a completely new time period. Again.

To make things worse, while Tony was sober enough to program buildings, or whatever each door required, he was apparently still too drunk to notice that Steve wasn't some long-legged underwear model. The highly suggestive banter before Pepper showed up was proof of that. Tony had been leaning on him more heavily, too, ever since then, although that could've been the alcohol finally making its way through his system. Apparently he wasn't a totally heavyweight; he just had a slow metabolism. Steve was thankful there was still some part of Stark aware enough not to feel him up, although he kept an eye on each hand anyway. He chewed on his next words for a long while, moving meaninglessly through the house, until he finally couldn't _not_ say it.

"Where's your room, Tony?" he asked, trying to keep his tone flat, which of course meant that he could barely get the words out, as tight as his throat was. Hopefully Stark wouldn't remember anything past the car ride home.

Tony made a general motion with his hand. Good that it was devoid of innuendo. Bad that it was also lacking in usable information. Steve walked in that direction for a good while, hoping that Tony would pipe up whenever they were getting close, but when he stopped to readjust them, he found that Tony's eyes had slipped closed again. He was breathing slow, content breaths, head resting on Steve's chest.

Steve closed his own eyes for a moment, clenching his jaw. This was _not_ what he'd signed up for when he agreed to go out for a drink. If Tony could pay a guy to nag him about missing speeches, surely he could afford someone to carry his limp self to bed.

At least he wasn't making inappropriate comments anymore.

Figuring there really wasn't any reason not to, he started pushing the brightly colored things on the walls. After a few bright red things popped up (a color which even he knew meant "bad thing"), a voice spoke to him from inside the wall. He started back a few steps, earning a displeased groan from Tony.

"I recommend you go a few more rooms down, Mr. Rogers," the wall said. "I'll take care of the door."

Steve didn't move.

"Who the hell... Are you watching me?" he intoned, looking around to where he suspected cameras might be mounted.

"Indeed. Now if you'll please-"

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"Oh, for the love of-" Tony pulled himself up, hair mussed, face slightly red on one side. "Can't a guy sleep in peace? Honestly. Jarvis, let him dump me here. This is fine."

"Jarvis?" Steve asked, ignoring the way his one good suit crinkled in Tony's fist as the man fought against gravity.

"Steve, Jarvis. Jarvis, Steve," Tony said quickly, as if that explained everything.

"His home computing system, although we've been traveling together more often as of late. Pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Rogers."

"Home... computing... Yeah, pleasure..." Steve mumbled, eyes still scanning the ceiling in disbelief.

"And he can't dump you here, Mr. Stark. Remember? You converted these rooms for when Ms. Potts stays the night."

Tony let out a low growl, slumping back against Steve again.

"Here's fine. Just... leave me... right here..." his eyes slid closed again, and he began slumping to the floor.

"The last few times you fell asleep here, sir, you caught an awful cold."

"How far down is it, Jarvis?" Steve asked firmly. He couldn't leave Tony in the middle of the hallway, especially not right outside Ms. Potts' room. If Tony didn't have any pride in this matter, he'd have to have enough for both of them.

"Just a little further. I'll have the door open and the floor warmed by the time you arrive."

"The floor warmed...?" Steve echoed, and then shook his head. He bent down, and in one fluid motion, picked Tony up, earning himself another pained groan.

"Ughhh, please... never do that again," Tony said weakly, putting a hand on his forehead.

"My pleasure," Steve gritted out. As promised, the door was open. He dumped Tony gently on the bed, and immediately the billionaire playboy fell sound asleep. Who wouldn't... his bed was probably programmed to fit every movement his body made. Steve pulled Tony's shoes off (it felt wrong leaving them on) and put them neatly by the foot of the bed. On his way out, he paused just long enough to touch the floor...

"That's so weird," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his fingertips together. As he began the long journey back through the house, he heard the door _whoosh_ closed behind him, and felt for the first time like he was leaving the future behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Away from the open floor plan of the main living space, the house curved and crisscrossed in artistic fashion. Steve thanked his higher-than-average ability to retrace his steps, but he still felt like perhaps there was a shorter way he could have taken back to the front door. When he finally emerged into the living space, he found Ms. Potts facing a dark window, wine glass in hand. She looked over at him as he entered, smiling with too many teeth. She felt uncomfortable. Because of him? Or because of how she'd reacted earlier? It definitely wasn't the first time she'd reacted like that, or had to react like that. She had the air of a seasoned bickerer. Steve would probably get pretty good at it, too, if he hung around Tony more often.

"I wanted to apologize-" she started at the same time Steve had begun, "Sorry about the-"

They both broke off, laughing.

"I'm not used to people apologizing to me when I don't sign their paychecks," she laughed, pulling her legs up on the couch beneath her. The movement was sluggish. It wasn't her first glass. Did everyone just stay in a half-inebriated state around here? He didn't envy the wealthy.

"I was out of line," he said easily, halfway between the hallway back to the bedrooms and the door leading out to his car. "If I'd read the invitation-"

"Then Tony would've found someone else to skip off with," Pepper sighed, looking back out through the window. "I thought we were making real progress there, for a while. Silly me."

He stood in silence, unsure of how to respond to that. It really wasn't any of his business, but he couldn't just leave her like that.

"You mean, before Loki," he said finally, balling up his fist. This wasn't the person he was planning on having this discussion with. "It's none of my business, Ms. Potts, but I've seen war change lesser men."

Pepper let out a single, fast cough of a laugh, "But have you seen it change them _back_?"

"Sometimes," Steve said gently. He didn't know Tony well enough (this Tony or pre-Loki Tony) to judge his behavior. But when they were back in the ballroom of that party, and he'd seen Tony hanging on the precipice of a panic attack... No, that didn't seem like either Tony, past or present. What he'd heard about the billionaire was that he was calm, cool, and easy, with an unbeatable wild streak. Not ridden with anxiety. But that was definitely not something he could tell Ms. Potts. He could only hope that they were close enough for her to see it.

"Jeeze, he couldn't even walk. I mean, he hasn't gotten that wasted since he shot up the house a while back," she said, shaking her head.

" _Shot up_?" Steve repeated, eyebrows going up.

"Yeah, I mean. It was at a party. They destroyed a statue or something," she sighed, putting her fingers on the bridge of her nose.

Steve smiled in spite of himself, "Tony shot... a statue."

"Well, he didn't do it directly, but he definitely caused it to- Why are you smiling? It's not funny!"

"I'm sorry," he said, turning slightly away as his body began shaking with laughter. Tony Stark got drunk a shot a statue. Not exactly glamorous.

"Stop laughing!" Pepper said again, but now he could hear the smile in her voice. A smile that turned into its own set of soft giggles, and soon they were both laughing, tears in their eyes.

"No, that's not even the best one," Pepper laughed. "You wouldn't believe some of the ridiculous things he's done."

"I bet I would," Steve chuckled.

"Oh?" she asked, face a polite veil of curiosity. Oops.

"It was nothing really," he grinned, suddenly abashed. They shouldn't be talking about Tony like this. _He_ shouldn't be talking about Tony to his... girlfriend... thing. Whatever they were. Pepper.

"You're blushing, Captain," she pointed out, and he cleared his throat. Fantastic. Now whatever she was thinking would probably be ten times worse than what actually happened.

"He just... flirted with me a bit, I think," he said haltingly. "He was so drunk, he couldn't even tell who I was."

He waited for her to laugh, but she just smiled that same smile all women have when they know something you don't, and are a little too drunk to hide it. Way worse.

"I mean, he probably would've flirted with Jarvis, or whatever that thing in your house is. _Is Jarvis really a computer?_ " he asked, suddenly hyper aware of how tight his dress shirt was. He tugged at his tie.

"Yes, Jarvis is a computer, and yes, Tony has flirted with him before," Pepper supplied helpfully, laughing again, and Steve felt the tense atmosphere dissipate. "Honestly, if Jarvis were a real person, I'm not sure I'd be in the picture at all."

"I find that hard to believe," he said sincerely, earning himself another smile, this time genuine. She was really pretty, when she relaxed. There was another pause in the conversation, which seemed like a nice, awkward moment to cut it off and return home.

"I think I best be getting home, ma'am," he said, nodding to her.

"Drive safe," she said absently, waving at him from where she was perched.

"Oh," he said, turning back around, "and if you wouldn't mind keeping this all between us? I'd rather not embarrass Tony when he wakes up."

"Embarrass?" she guffawed. "Tony won't be embarrassed, Mr. Rogers. A little disappointed, perhaps. But don't worry. Hopefully, I won't remember any of this in the morning, either."

"Oh, okay... Well, thank you anyway," he said, puzzled. "Take care."


	6. Chapter 6

Tony rolled awake at approximately 1:05 pm, highly aware of the fact that the world tasted, smelled, and felt sour, and that the other half of his bed was decidedly unmussed. On the plus side, he hadn't come home with any starry-eyed brunettes. On the negative, he could definitely remember a frowny-faced Pepper greeting him at the door. He groaned, lying face-down for another ten minutes before his bladder began to complain.

Swinging his legs over the bed, the first thing he noticed was how warm the floor felt. He flexed his toes, looking over in curiosity at his neatly-placed shoes. Definitely not Pepper. Vague memories of floating (if floating made you feel like turning your stomach inside out) to his bed. Ahh, that was right. The good old Captain, ever the gentleman.

"Jarvis, please tell me I didn't say or do anything regrettable last night."

"You got drunk, nearly passed out in the hallway, and had to be carried back to your room by Mr. Rogers, sir."

"Ah, good. I was worried there for a moment," Tony said under his breath, climbing to his feet and staggering to the bathroom.

"If Mr. Rogers is going to be a regular guest, sir, I recommend you show him how to access the maps or hallway guide lights."

"Did he get lost?" Tony asked, stooping over the toilet, trying to decide which desire was more urgent... relieving his bladder or heaving up his internal organs.

Ah, organs.

And then bladder. Definitely bladder.

"Only a little. He has an impressive sense of direction."

Tony wiped his mouth, left his suit in a pile on the floor, and toppled into the shower.

"I'm noticing the distinct absence of the part where you activate these features for him. Trying to trap him here, ay, Jarvis?" he said, swashing and spitting water out. The discolored mess swirled around sickeningly before sliding down the drain.

"He seemed a little disconcerted by my presence. I didn't want to dissuade him from returning."

Tony snorted, wondering if that were even an option at this point. The boy wonder was probably halfway across the country by now, running as far away from his humble home as possible. He felt the mildest pang of regret. They definitely couldn't be drinking buddies, but he always liked a guy who could match him in verbal sparring. It's what made his and Pepper's relationship so... special.

Speaking of.

"Jarvis, get Pepper on the line," he said, stepping out of the shower and heading over to brush his teeth. One more daily ritual, and he might actually feel like a human being again. Well, maybe two more. An advil or three couldn't hurt.

"That won't be necessary, sir. She isn't at the office."

"Oh?" Tony asked, not too surprised. He was always forgetting which save-the-world campaign she was flying off to. "Where is she this time?" He rinsed his mouth out and padded back into his room. He quickly pulled on a black wife beater and pants. If his head would stop spinning, he might be able to get some real work done today. Maybe make another suit. He chewed his lip. What should this one specialize in...

"In the living room, sir."

Ok, now he was interested.

"Say again?" he said, 

"She's passed out on the couch, sir."

Suits could wait. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"Jarvis, get the lab set up. I'll be down in a few."

"Sir, are you sure this is wise?" Jarvis asked as he walked barefoot into the hall, making a b-line toward the living room.

"No. But will I regret it otherwise? Definitely."

"Are you sure you won't regret it if you _do_ go, sir?" Jarvis asked hesitantly, and Tony could hear the pain on the edge of his voice. Wasn't AI just amazing. These days, even robots could pity your almost inevitable downfall.

"Too late," Tony said, cutting through the point where Steve should've turned last night and appearing instantly in the living room. The window overlooking the ocean was tinted dark, and Tony quickly programmed it to let in the full extent of the morning sun. A soft pained moan emanated from the couch, and he answered it with a throaty greeting, ignoring the ringing in his own head at the sound. "Rise and shine! The day's a-wasting!"

"Oh my goddd, Tony..." a blond, mussed head appeared, held by a delicate hand, as if to stave away light, sound, and pounding all in one motion. Only partially successful, by the looks of it.

"I thought this was my routine?" he said, placing himself down carefully onto the couch and turning the window back to it's previous dark tint. "You wanna talk about it, Pepper?" he asked, giving his biggest concerned puppydog eyes. She cracked one eye open at him beneath the vines of hair cascading over her face, and he felt the first pang of regret for his current actions.

"If you do not get. out. right now, I'm going to... to..." the eye closed again.

"Destroy my lab? Schedule me appointments with the company all next week? Invite over a life coach?" he supplied helpfully. He was far more used to this kind of morning-after pain.

" _Yeesssss..._ " she hissed, teetering dangerously as she tried to climb to her feet. He watched her make her way into the kitchen and grab two Advil.

"So it looks like you had a good time last night, hm? Did you try to get drunk with Steve, too? He can't get drunk, you know. Superhuman metabolism."

"No, Steve was delightful, unlike some people," she ground out, throat raspy.

"Delightful?" Tony repeated, raising a brow dramatically and moving off the couch to stand across the counter from her. "Delightful how? Like, made you a three course dinner delightful? What kind of delightful are we talking about, here? Should I be worried?" This was the furthest thing from his mind, but he knew how cliche it would sound and couldn't resist. The concerned boyfriend... That's the role he should be playing now, right?

" _Very_ worried," she said firmly, slamming the Advil bottle back on the counter, making them both grimace. "No, Tony. If you must know, we talked about you." She paused for effect, smile closed-mouthed and in-genuine.

"A riveting topic, to be sure," Tony grinned.

"Indeed," she agreed, but offered nothing more. Instead, she picked up her glass of water and made her way back into the hallway, head held high, as if she had won this match.

...Damnit.

"Jarvis, please tell me you recorded their conversation last night," Tony said once Pepper had moved out of range, feeling an itch form in his brain. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't feel it imperative."

"Well, were you _listening_?"

"They laughed quite a bit, sir."

Tony ran his tongue along his teeth, tapping the counter with his index finger.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter." It didn't matter. "Let's get to work." On the suits. He absolutely didn't care what they talked about, regardless of the subject. They were probably talking about how inhumanly gorgeous he was.

And laughing?

No, didn't matter. Absolutely didn't matter. Not. One. Bit.


	7. Chapter 7

A normal day, to follow an extremely abnormal night. Not that he could tell exactly what was normal anymore. Or maybe, his life had never been normal, not even in the beginning. It seemed he was always fated to swing between extremes... Too small, too large, too weak, too strong, too... not in his own time period, and completely lacking in friends and family.

_BFFF_

Steve smashed his fist into the punching bag. There was nowhere to go except here. Nothing to do but train. As much as he liked the peace, he was a soldier without a war.

There was another extreme. He had absolutely nothing to do, nowhere to go, and there Tony was, shirking off his many responsibilities. Or, perhaps, running from them. A man with too much.

_BFFF BFFF_

Sand began trickling from the seams, but he failed to notice, caught up in the act of _not_ thinking about Tony Stark, damnit. In some ways, the man was exactly like his dad. Cared, sure, and did a lot for the world, sure... But was one hell of a prick in the meantime. His fist landed hard, right in the sweet spot.

_BFFFSST_

The bag exploded, covering him in sand, and he coughed, rubbing at his eyes. They stung only momentarily, watering briefly, before he his vision returned to normal. Indistinct redness around the eyes from where he'd rubbed them. Still covered in sand, though, which was annoying and could possibly cause chafing.

Steve shook out his hair as he walked to the empty locker room. Fury had promised him private training facilities, and the man took his word seriously. He hadn't seen another living person (aside from Fury himself) since he first stepped foot in here, although he assumed that this building, like any place owned by S.H.E.I.L.D, was probably bugged to the teeth. Still, Steve stripped bare and stepped into the showers with no hesitation. He didn't dawdle, rinsing the sand from his skin and hair and quickly grabbing a towel. The sooner he was dry, the sooner he could resume his training.

He had wrapped the towel around his waist and was making his way to his locker for a fresh pair of clothes, when the speaker system crackled, followed by an eardrum-shattering, high pitched _squeal_. He covered his ears, looking up at the speakers in confusion.

"Testing... testing, one two," said a very familiar voice. "Sorry about that. Technical difficulties."

"W... wha- Tony?" Steve asked, flabbergasted.

"Did you realize that you are a _very_ difficult man to get on the phone? I've been calling for hours. Well, hour. Fifty-three minutes."

"How... why...? It was... in my locker... Did you...?" Steve said haltingly, mouth open.

"I hacked the building's surveillance. Just high tech enough to be connected. Just low tech enough to be crackable in... 4.3 seconds. Really, it's a major flaw in their system. I'm doing them a service."

"Surveillance... You mean... Can you _see me_?" Steve asked, suddenly hyper-aware of his current state. Last night's drunken come-ons flickered unhelpfully in his memory.

"Yes and no. Yes, because the video feed is actually pretty good quality. No, because your back is turned."

Steve whipped around.

"Ah, much better."

"Jeeze, listen Tony, I'll call you back later, okay?" Steve said, squinting into the corner where he thought a camera might be hidden.

"Lower... nope, still lower."

Steve walked forward, peering into what looked like a plain white clock, like something you'd buy at a local dollar store. It even had a little brown residue on one side.

"Bingo!"

"Tony..." Steve pulled the clock off the wall. There weren't any wires. The technology of this age was so perplexing.

"Listen, I just wanted you to know that Pepper told me everything."

Steve froze.

"And it's really okay. Not even a big deal."

"Yeah, see, that's what I said," he said, feeling his heart speed up. Pepper Potts... he honestly thought he could trust that woman. "You were drunk. You didn't realize what you were saying."

"Not at all. Like I said, no big deal."

"I mean, you probably would've come on to the living room table, if it had been close enough." He finished in a rush, chuckling nervously.

"Oh my God, is that what it was?" Tony spat, making the speakers flare up in another bout of hissing. Steve grimaced. "I _flirted_ with you? Jesus Christ, Pepper. She made it seem like you guys spent all night hashing out all of my deepest... I mean, not that there's anything to hash."

Steve blinked, feeling once again like someone had dropped weights on him. And then, it clicked. Oh. Oh, he'd walked right into that one.

"Pepper --Ms. Potts-- didn't tell you anything, did she," he ground out.

"Nah, she's way tougher to crack. Oh, and by the way, the camera's on the table behind you. Call me."

The speakers fuzzed out again, right as ten men in uniform, guns drawn, burst unceremoniously into the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Why, exactly, did he feel compelled to call the Captain? As he tinkered with his newest suit (this one was going to be really cool), putting together the joints where its foot would connect to leg, he mulled this over. Well, "call." To be fair, he really did try and call the first several times, and then wiped some of those calls from Steve's history. Didn't want to seem too clingy. When he checked and saw that Steve had been missing calls since 6 o'clock in the morning, that's when he decided to go digging. Nobody trained for eight hours straight.

Just like nobody worked on suits for ten hours straight.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, sitting back a moment to breathe. His body took the opportunity to remind him that yes, food really was a necessity, with an urgent rumble. Did he always feel this light-headed? Probably wasn't working at an optimum pace.

"Jarvis, you're supposed to remind me to eat. You're slacking."

"My apologies, sir. I thought after the first four mentions that you had decided against it."

Cheeky. Tony heaved himself up, checking his watch. He was currently on his fourth hour, slightly under half his daily limit. If he kept at it, he'd have this one done in another day or two and could get started on the next. Maybe, if he focused more on the artillery...

"Phone, sir."

"Put it through," he said, stretching his back and making for the stairs. There was a click, and he continued easily, "Working, Pepper. Is the house on fire?"

There was a long, very un-Pepper-like pause.

"Pepper?" he asked insistantly, slightly worried that maybe the house _was_ on fire.

"It isn't Ms. Potts, sir," Jarvis supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, no," said the voice on the other end. "Is that really how you greet her?"

Tony's moment of surprise and interest waned quickly. Two more days, tops, and he could be done with this suit. Two days.

"Oh, hey Steve. Yes, well, like I said. Working. Well, eating, and then working. Something I can do for you?"

Another long pause, and Tony started heading up the stairs. He liked the Captain, really, but this really wasn't the best time. He'd even waited until Steve wasn't smashing punching bags to bug him, and that seemed like the most arbitrary thing in the universe in the universe to interrupt. It's not like Steve actually had to work to keep those bulging biceps.

"No, you know what. It's fine," Steve said, far too clipped. Tony stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, and took a deep, patience-wielding breath.

"It isn't fine. Sorry, I'm just... caught up in something." Another pause, and Tony steeled his jaw. Patience. "A thing that I would happily drop if you wanted to grab a bite to eat. I'm famished."

"Yeah, a bite sounds good," Steve said hesitantly. "Where at? I don't really know a lot of places around here."

"I'll pick you up. You like Chinese, right?"

\--------------

Tony tapped the table in a fast, irregular rhythm, checking his watch for the umpteenth time. He'd picked this place for the fast service, but the waitress had disappeared ten minutes ago and hadn't even been back to refill their water. He wanted to be checking his fortune cookie by now.

"You okay, Tony?" Steve asked, peering at him over the menu.

"What? Yeah, fine," Tony said quickly.

Steve put the menu down.

"Honestly, I came here to give you hell about the hacking... thing, but I'm having a hard time beating you up when you won't even look at me."

Tony looked squarely at him, raising his brows in invitation.

"Jeeze, Tony. If you didn't wanna do this, you shouldn't have asked. I have better things to do than-"

"What, punching bags all day?"

Steve looked at him crossly, and it didn't go unnoticed that he looked _down_ at him crossly. It was truly fascinating how huge the guy was, while still appearing otherwise normal. Maybe the reason the serum had worked so well on him, but that a similar concoction had turned Dr. Jekyl into the Jolly Green Giant, was because Steve's body was in such poor shape to begin with. No place to go but up. Maybe it would've overdosed anyone else.

A singular human being. One of a kind, even.

"It's training, and it's necessary."

"Ohhh, I see," Tony said emphatically, nodding.

"Well, what are _you_ doing that's so important? Hacking into government agencies? Spying on other people in locker rooms?"

Tony grinned. He really hadn't thought that through, but he couldn't say his poor planning wasn't without its benefits. He may be with Pepper, but looking wasn't touching, and the Captain certainly wasn't unpleasant to look at.

"I'm building things," he answered vaguely, and his mind snapped back to his work like a rubber band, his heart race increasing. He looked down at his watch.

"What kinds of things?" Steve said slowly, unevenly, and Tony looked back up to find that hesitant expression on his face. The same look that was there when he'd pulled him out of the crowd last night. He took a moment to self-assess, and yes, okay, he was acting weird. Deep breath. But really, it was nobody's business but his, right? If it took a little paranoia on his part to stave off the next cross-planetary war, then he'd be a little paranoid.

"You know, things. Ma'am!" he coughed, flagging down their waitress. "We're ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just wanted to say thank you for bearing with me on my every day updates. In an effort to keep writing each day, I'm not editing this at all, aside from a quick run-through after each session. And obviously I don't have a beta, so I'm super impressed and grateful that you guys are leaving kudos anyway *grovels* You're the best!
> 
> I also wanted to mention that while there is that nice Tony/Pepper tag there, I'm really not going to have any explicit hanky panky between them. Just wanted to get that out of the way, in case that's why you were reading it. Tony/Steve on the other hand, well... I'll earn that warning, eventually...


	9. Chapter 9

The restaurant was tiny and nearly empty, aside from a couple of giggling high school girls in the corner and and elderly couple near the windows. It would've been pleasant, if not for the fact that his company seemed ready to jump out of his skin. If he hadn't known better, he could've sworn Tony had taken something... recreational. It was fairly easy to get his attention, but he shouldn't have had to work for it in the first place. It wasn't like he was trying to trap Tony into going places with him. They were both grown men. Sure, he would've been a little disappointed, but if Tony didn't want to go somewhere, he didn't have to.

That being said, Steve resisted the urge to feel like this was definitely good for Stark. For them both, really. As much as he hated to admit it, Tony had near-wordlessly hit the nail on the head when he'd scoffed at his daily training routine. It was pretty pointless. If he hadn't been randomly invited to that celebration last night, this week would've been just like the last couple: monotonous. It would be better if he had someone to train with, but nobody could withstand his advances for very long, and he worried about hurting his partners. Perhaps, if he had someone like Black Widow, but after the war, she'd disappeared tracelessly back into S.H.E.I.L.D.

So here he was, sick to death of destroying punching bags, shooting the breeze. Maybe here, at least, he could do some good. Maybe.

"Okay, so you don't wanna talk about the project you're obsessing over. That's not alarming," Steve nodded a while after they'd ordered, sipping nonchalantly at his water.

"I don't not want to talk about it. It just isn't finished yet," Tony said, and Steve couldn't tell if he was being bashful or had become aware of how strange his own behavior was. If it was the latter, that was a good step. Or a bad one, if he only got better at hiding it instead of fixing the problem. "Besides, you'd be asleep in a matter of seconds if I started in on the details."

Steve leaned forward eagerly, his brain leaping at the chance for intelligent conversation, even at the threat of it being miles over his head. "Try me."

Tony raised an eyebrow, probably recognizing a challenge when he saw one.

"Okay. It's a suit," he said.

"Color me surprised," Steve said sarcastically, and Tony snorted.

"It's a new, different type of suit," Tony clarified, lowering his voice a little as the waitress set their dishes in front of them. She didn't linger, so it was probable that she didn't recognize him. Good. Tony leaned forward until their faces were a foot apart, and Steve instantly recognized the gleam in his dark eyes. The same look Tony's dad had carried during Steve's trials. Hunger. A type of hunger that Steve could only understand by proxy, by comparing it to his own hunger during the old war. The hunger to serve. This, of course, wasn't that. Not exactly, anyway. Tony looked more like a predator right now than a hero.

"Go on," Steve encouraged, sensing that Tony, as eager as he was to explain his creation, also craved the attention. He wasn't just here to be a receptacle. He was here as audience.

"Fully autonomous AI," Tony murmured, so low that only Steve's increased hearing could detect it. They sat that way for a moment, staring at one another, before Steve finally shook his head. Tony rolled his eyes. "Come on, Cap. AI. You know. Artificial Intelligence?" Another shake. "Christ, I keep forgetting- Okay." He picked up his fork, standing it on one end. Steve's perplexed expression turned to a scowl.

"I'm not a kid, Tony. Just explain it."

"I am. Okay, so imagine this fork, let's name him Forky. Forky is just a fork, which means that he sits on this table and moves when we tell him to. Yes?"

A long pause while Steve ground his teeth.

"Okay, fine. Yes," he spat finally, forcing his fists, because they had become fists, to unclench.

"Good. So Forky gets a little upgrade. We put a computer chip in his tines here," Tony pointed to the tips of the fork, as if it mattered. "And now, completely without our help, Forky can sing, dance, feed us, and poke our enemies in the eye socket. Forky now has AI. Artificial Intelligence." Tony threw up his hands, palms out, as if physically presenting this new knowledge. Steve struggled to reconcile this with what he already knew about 21st Century technology. Banks. Planes. Cars. Everything seemed to be computerized these days. Even Tony's house had some sort of... Oh, Tony's house, moving without his control. That made a little more sense now.

"So this suit will be able to, hypothetically, sing and dance without you in it?" Steve asked, that statement heavy. It felt like a horror movie waiting to happen.

"Well, yes, amongst other things," Tony grinned.

"Other things... like fighting alien invaders," Steve nodded. Tony's smile broadened. So Tony was building another suit to help him fight. That didn't seem too extreme. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

Tony sat back in his chair, grinning like an idiot, "See, thank you! I thought so, too. Like, you have your training, I have mine, right? Granted, mine actually furthers our chances in the long run, but-"

"Tony," Steve interrupted.

"Sorry, okay, I can't just say that it's a good way to spend your time, okay? I mean, punching a bag-"

" _Tony!_ " he said again, more forcefully, bringing his hand down on the table. That, finally, got his attention. He smiled. "I have an idea."


	10. Chapter 10

"This is a bad idea," Tony said for the 7th time since they'd left the restaurant. That wasn't counting the 4 times while they finished eating, or the 2 times while waiting for the check. Steve had stopped answering him, because it wasn't really an argument anymore. It was just something that needed to be said... repeatedly, apparently, because it was, for the record, a bad idea. That didn't stop Tony from driving Steve back to his place, opening his home, and allowing him down into his work space, where his as-of-yet unfinished project sat in the middle of the room in several pieces.

"I thought you said it was finished enough," Steve said disappointedly, bending down to look at a disconnected arm, which the computer system had just begun soldering shut.

"Yeah, not that one... This one."

Steve rose up, face an open book of interest. The guy was so easy to read. Expressive.

"There's more than one?"

"Oh yeah," Tony said, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he pushed a few buttons. He watched Steve's eyes widen as a wall panel lifted, revealing five pristine suits. He let it sink in for a moment, and then began in a rush, "Now, the bulky one's mostly for defense, so he won't be any fun. You could hit that one with a sledgehammer and it would bounce right off. I think you'd get more from punching sand bags. The two on the sides we should probably avoid too, unless you want to practice your bullet-dodging skills." Steve grimaced. "That's what I thought. _This_ guy, though..." Tony trailed off, tapping the glass in front of one of the slimmer versions. "He could be fun."

Steve chewed his lip as Tony stood stock still, trying not to bounce on the balls of his feet. Real world application in one of the best testing scenarios imaginable.

"It's a bad idea, Steve," he repeated giddily, his voice an invitation.

"Oh well, in that case," Steve snorted. "Got a place where I can change?"

\-----

They stood on one of the largest, flattest areas he had in this house: the landing pad outside. Sure, there was a huge drop off to the ocean, but Steve could probably avoid that. If not, he had a submersible model he'd been wanting to test out.

"Ready when you are," Steve yelled from about 20 feet off, the wind whipping away all but the gist of his sentence. Tony resisted, with much difficulty, the urge to look back over his shoulder again. Steve in the towel was great, sure, but Steve in clingy sweats and slightly too-tight white shirt was just... ugh. Distracting. He focused on making a few minor adjustments, knowing from his first tests with his own suit that things could go really wrong, really fast. He'd rather not lose his newest work or his new testing dummy if anything decided to go boom.

"Okay, I'm keeping it pretty intense," Tony shouted back, stepping away from the model to remote activate it, "so if you're having trouble keeping up, let me know."

"I'll let you know," Steve laughed, rolling his shoulders. ...Distracting.

Tony hit the button.

The suit sprung to life immediately, surveying its surroundings. Tony watched the monitor eagerly, noting that he'd been recognized as a friendly face. Good. He'd pre-programmed Steve in as a threat, so hopefully- Yep, there it was. The suit shrank down into a fighting stance, matching Steve's. Interesting. He'd taught it a few different martial arts, but since he'd given the AI more control over what to use, he wasn't entirely sure what would happen.

Nothing, apparently.

The suit watched Steve, and Steve watched the suit. A minute passed. Two minutes. Tony watched the readouts. Everything was functioning perfectly. It was just... watching. Learning or something.

"Is it brok-?" Steve started, but cut off quickly, rolling out of the way as it rocketed toward him. It followed up with a quick roundhouse kick, which Steve caught and twisted. Tony winced as he heard the suit crunch.

He saw Steve hesitate momentarily, which was a moment too long. The suit, which felt no pain, aimed a punch that landed squarely on his jaw, knocking him backward. The punch caused another crunch, but Tony couldn't be too upset. He'd only caught a glimpse of the data before it shot off-screen, but apparently the suit was using a heightened level of force to match what it had judged its opponent to possess. He'd probably lose this one, but the readouts would be incredibly useful for creating his next model.

His heart pounded excitedly as he watched the match on his screen, busily making sense of the gibberish the computer spat out. The suit learned easily, matching Steve's movements and style, even if it couldn't physically keep up. It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty darned close. He'd based the program on Jarvis, but the computing power was all self-contained within the suit, to keep its reactions speedy. Luckily, the shell protecting the software seemed to be holding up alright, even if it looked like the limbs were taking some pretty massive damage.

When he heard a loud crunch, his gaze darted up for the first time, and that was his big mistake. Steve, whose shirt clung pitifully in shredded strips, had the suit in a headlock from behind. One of the suit's twin jets were ablaze as it attempted to escape, its crumpled fingers pulling weakly at Steve's scratch-covered arm. Tony watched as they struggled, bent over together, a mess of flesh and torn fabric and metal, and felt the sight slip straight past his scientific brain to pool someplace much less useful. He always noticed and recognized when someone was attractive, and had no problem pointing that out, but... Maybe he should convince Steve to train with him sometime...

He cleared his throat, and powered the suit down.

"Okay, I think that's a tie," he said, his own voice low in his ears. He thanked the wind for kicking most of that away.

"A tie? I totally won!" Steve asserted, oblivious, his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright and large and so fucking blue, it was ridiculous. Steve's chest heaved as he recovered his breath. Bad idea. This was a bad idea. Where was Pepper? She should come next time. Or maybe not. Maybe that was an even worse idea. Steve dropped the crumpled tin can of a suit, looking down at it as if for the first time. "Oh... Oh, Tony, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No big," Tony said honestly, coming up alongside him and looking pointedly down at the suit. "Obviously needed work. Next time, though, it'll be you in a headlock."

"Ha! I'll believe that when I see it," Steve said cheerily, slapping him on the shoulder so hard that Tony nearly toppled over. He grunted, clenching his jaw. "Oh! Sorry-"

"No big," he said, strained. A little bit of pain would probably do him good right now. Pain and maybe a nice, cold shower.

Steve picked up the heap of suit under one arm, following him back inside.

"So, when are we doing this again?" he asked enthusiastically. Tony looked him over dubiously. Mostly at his scratches.

"How long will those take to heal?" he asked, motioning at Steve's... well... everything. Steve looked down at himself.

"I dunno. A couple of days, tops."

"Perfect," Tony nodded. A couple of days to perfect his new suit and spend time with Pepper, power-washing his libido. Perfect.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve spent two days mending his cuts (they were deeper than expected) and going over the fight in his head. The suits, if they could even be called that anymore, now that they had no passenger, obviously had a steep learning curve. It was fun challenging himself against it, but if Tony kept improving them steadily with each new model, he was going to need more than a couple of days to recover after each fight. The fact that they didn't feel pain was one matter he'd have to deal with. Some of his best moves were meant to debilitate, not permanently damage.

He ran his fingers across one of the more heavily padded bandages on his bicep. They also had the problem of getting sharper as they caved in. He had removed a few fingers off that last one and given it a couple of nice, razor-sharp blades. The crazy thing was, it knew it. No sooner had he created that issue than the suit began using it against him. It was definitely good practice, but he didn't want to maim himself. Maybe he could tell Tony to take it down a notch...?

Steve snorted, clenching and unclenching a fist. No way in hell that was going to happen.

So instead, he trained, going through twice as many punching bags as usual, and inventing new games to keep himself more limber. He hadn't gotten these cuts from not being strong enough. He'd gotten them from his inability to dodge in time. So he dodged and caught tennis balls, thrown by his own superhuman strength. It was, to be perfectly honest, not something he wanted people watching while he tried. Not his most graceful moments. He wasn't sure how effective it would be in training him against opponents, but it definitely improved his reaction time, especially when he threw the ball against an uneven surface.

By the time the two days were up, his cuts and tennis ball bruises had faded, and he could catch a rapidly-speeding projectile from any direction with only a moment's notice.

He waited at home by the phone, tapping his foot, and picked it up a millisecond into the first ring.

"Tony?" he asked, and then bit his tongue. Overeager. He'd been told when he was younger that it was his worst trait. Then again, it was the reason he'd been chosen to become Captain America in the first place. Still, Tony wasn't his dad, and he didn't want to irritate him into calling the thing off. So he waited. And waited. There was a dull thud on the other end, followed by a loud scraping, grinding noise. There were other sounds in the background, and as Steve strained to hear, he was able to barely make out Tony's voice.

"Jarvis! Jarvis-- is that Steve? Tell him to- Shit! Would you _stop that?_ Tell him to get his fine ass over here, pronto!"

"Mr. Rogers, if you don't mind-" Jarvis began, but Steve was already on his feet.

"On my way," Steve said quickly, hanging up the phone and rushing from his apartment.

\-----

Steve sped. He didn't run any red lights, because that was just asking for trouble, but he definitely went a good five miles over the speed limit, several times. He pulled up the long drive to Tony's place, wondering if he'd get there to find the place ablaze, but from the outside, everything was quiet.

It was only once Jarvis had opened the front door that he noticed anything amiss. The floor was vibrating. He rushed down into the basement, Tony's work area, and immediately dodged back out again, followed swiftly by some mechanical thing that looked like a mixture between a praying mantis and a hospital patient's worst nightmare. It crashed against the wall next to him, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. That was probably expensive.

"Steve, you still with me, buddy?" Tony called from inside, and Steve peeked through the door again. There was a suit in the middle of the room, still partially unfinished and bolted to the work area. One of its jets had kicked on, and it was madly flicking back and forth, grabbing anything within reach and pelting it either at him or at a long, dented table on the far side of the room.

"Yeah, still here! What the hell's going on?" Steve called, earning another alien artifact pitched in his direction. The suit made a loud _scree_ ing sound, and he covered his ears.

"I said... stop! Power down! Naughty suit!" Steve looked back to see Tony's head appear briefly over the dented table, just long enough to lock eyes with him for a split second before disappearing back down again. "I uploaded the same software from the last suit, with everything it had learned, you know?" Something heavy smashed against the wall, and half the lights went out. "Shit! Okay, well, so I tried a new coating, thinking that it would respond more like flesh, and maybe you wouldn't get so cut up, right?"

Steve smiled. How thoughtful.

"But, see, I think it had actually been using its sharpened parts for offensive maneuvering."

"So when you applied the coating, it didn't like it?" Steve finished, easily seeing where this was going.

"Bingo! And _my_ suit... my GOOD suit, the one not currently _destroying my lab_ , is in the panel behind it!" Another smash, loud, a ways away from where they both sat. "Oh- Oh, that had better not be broken! You are _so_ grounded, mister! I will delete all of your data and start from scratch!" Another high-pitched _scree_. Steve grimaced, making a mental note to ask what the purpose of that horrible noise was.

"Sir, maybe you should try a gentler approach?" Jarvis supplied helpfully.

"Oh, should I go make us some cupcakes, Jarvis? Some warm milk? Hmm?"

Steve waited until the smashing seemed to be completely directed toward Tony, and he leapt into action. There were tables all over the place, so there was plenty of cover, and he quickly dodged behind one, wishing he had his shield. The thrown objects had recently degenerated into smaller equipment. It was running out of things within reach. The _scree_ s were also beginning to decrease in pitch. It was running out of ammo and juice. If they waited a little longer, it would probably wear itself out.

There was a thick _crunch_ , and Steve looked over his new shelter to see that the bars that had been holding the suit in place, obviously not designed for this, had begun to splinter. Ok, couldn't wait. He just had to hope that Tony had finished applying that coating.

He dove out from behind the table, making a mad dash to the suit. It seemed... surprised? Could computers be surprised? Just a moment of hesitation, which was long enough for him to tackle it to the ground. The bars snapped in half, grazing his leg as they fell, and he landed on top of it, pinning its scrabbling hands behind its back.

"Tony! Hurry!" Steve shouted unnecessarily. Tony was already crouching down beside him, pulling a panel from the back of the suit's neck and tugging wires loose. A last, desperate _scree_ fell away to nothing as the suit powered down, falling limp beneath him.

They sat like that for a moment, Steve still pinning the suit to the ground, Tony leaning against him, both breathing hard.

"Well, it didn't get me in a choke hold," Steve offered, deadpan, looking over at Tony. Tony stared at his flat expression a good three seconds before bursting out in laughter.

"No choke hold, but he did have you cowering behind a table!"

"You were cowering, too!" Steve accused, but he was smiling.

"Hey, I'm the one with the big brain, okay! Not the big muscles," Tony retorted, punching Steve's nearest bicep.

"I don't know, you look pretty fit to me," Steve said, and Tony's gaze flickered over to him, expression strange. "I mean, I could almost feel that." The look evaporated faster than Steve could make sense of it, returning to the same laugh-lined face as before. This look died quickly, as well, however, when his eyes darted southward. Steve's followed, landing on his metal-torn leg. It must've been the blood that drew Tony's attention. They were practically swimming in it.

"That looks bad," Tony said quickly.

"Well, I can definitely feel it," Steve chuckled, getting to his feet. It hurt, but it didn't impede his movements. That was good.

"Come on, I've got a first aid kit. I think it got thrown over here somewhere."


	12. Chapter 12

Tony wasn't too embarrassed about the technical mishap. Things like this were bound to happen, and honestly, he was surprised it hadn't happened more often. This one was a doozy, though. He needed to look into more effective fail-safes. During its stupendous bitch fit, the suit must've found some way to disengage remote interference. Definitely required further research.

"Found it!" he called, pulling the first aid kit from beneath half a mechanical soldering arm and raising it triumphantly above his head.

"Joy," Steve said blandly, easing himself up to sit on one of the less damaged tables. Tony's poor lab... It would set him back two weeks, at least. The work would probably go faster if he could hire some guys to clean up the mess, but he didn't trust anyone down here except himself, Pepper, and, now, Steve. He paused a moment, reflecting on how quickly that had happened. Huh.

"Just don't use that... stinging stuff," Steve said. "I can fight off infection perfectly fine without it."

Tony looked sideways at him, pulling the dark bottle from its confines. "You mean, this one?" Steve grimaced. "Are you sure? I mean, you can't be too careful, right? Maybe I'll just pour it over..." Tony leaned forward, and saw the color wash out of Steve's face. "Kidding! I'm kidding!" he threw his hands up quickly, returning the bottle to the kit and pulling out some Neosporin and cotton swabs instead. "This stuff works better anyway. They're saying now that alcohol kills the good stuff along with the bad."

"Oh?" Steve chuckled weakly, forming a pitiful excuse for a smile. "That's good."

Tony raised an eyebrow, "Maybe I should install peroxide jets in the next suit?"

"Don't," he replied too fast, fist clenching on top of his thigh. Seeing Tony's playful grin, his brow furrowed. "Tony, I mean it. Don't."

"Seriously? I mean, you dodge bullets on a daily basis, and you're scared of a little burning sensation?"

"I just don't like it, okay? It doesn't hurt, it's just... unpleasant," he said, shifting as Tony tore a wider gap in his jeans and dabbed at the cut with cotton swabs.

"Next you'll be telling me you're scared of needles."

"You aren't?" Steve said, his smile turning lopsided and boyish in a moment.

Tony laughed, but bit his lip when he cleared enough blood away to see how deep the cut went. An inch, maybe more. At least Steve had enough meat on his thighs for the metal to chew through. It didn't seem to be close to anything important, although he'd probably have to take it easy the next couple of... whatevers. Tony honestly had no idea how long it would take him to recover.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Steve reassured him, and Tony snorted. "I can actually do this myself, if you're squeamish."

"I'm not-" Tony broke off as a new well of blood bubbled to the surface, dripping down into Steve's already soaked jeans. Steve took the bandages from his hands, tearing loose the rest of the fabric and letting it flop wetly to the floor. Tony swallowed. He didn't mind doing this kind of work on himself, but he wasn't built for healing. He wasn't a doctor or a soldier; he was a mechanic, and he'd take wires over veins any day of the week. "Well, those are definitely ruined," Tony gestured, shifting the focus to Steve's pants. Steve nodded, finishing bandaging up his leg and tucking in the excess gauze. "I guess we can go pick through my closet and see if anything fits." Steve glanced up, giving him a withering look. "What? I wear baggy stuff! Sometimes. Or you can go get blood all over your rental car. Or!" he said, holding up an excited finger as Steve opened his mouth to argue, "You can just go pantsless!" He took a defensive step back, arms open, as Steve's jaw worked soundlessly to formulate the reply his brain seemed to be working toward. "I vote option three. Jarvis? Three?"

"Our washing machine is in working order, sir," Jarvis offered, and Steve shot a thankful look at the ceiling, his neck and ears already flushing red. So easy.

"Bah! Boring," he said, waving for Steve to follow as he started toward the door, clearing the way so that Steve would have less to maneuver across. "Besides, half-shorts? Really? I mean, you have great thighs, but talk about fashion faux pas."

"Tony..." Steve warned, but Tony could hear that he'd already begun hesitantly following him. Christ, it really was that easy? He'd need to find some way to redirect this. And of course, Pepper had left a couple days ago for some business thing, throwing his libido-washing plan right out the window. She was supposed to be back sometime today. Soon, he hoped.

"Come on, really. I'm bound to have something that fits," Tony urged seriously, easing his way through the broken doorway. "And if not, I have a couple of tartan bath robes we can turn into a kilt." He grinned over his shoulder at a very perplexed-looking Steve as he disappeared up the blacked-out hallway.


	13. Chapter 13

There was absolutely no alcohol involved this time. They still had a surplus of adrenalin running through their systems, but that could only be blamed for so much. Tony was definitely, _definitely_ hitting on him. Sober.

And Steve had no clue what to do about it.

It was obviously inappropriate and misguided, and probably some sort of manipulation tactic. Nothing threw Steve off faster than the odd flirt. He was highly aware of his inability to function properly in these scenarios. But what was Tony's end game? Did he even have an end game? Steve swallowed, climbing the stairs at half his usual pace, and not just because of his damaged leg.

By the time he reached the top, Tony had already jimmied the door open and had disappeared through it. Apparently the power failure extended beyond the lab.

"Okay," he heard as he squeezed through the half-opened doorway. He looked around, finding Tony crouching beside an open panel near the couch. "Nothing wrong with the wiring, so it looks like we just popped a couple of old-fashioned fuses." He rose to his feet, replacing the panel. "You remember how to get to my room?" he asked, and Steve nodded, noting the remarkable transition to Tony's "all business" persona. He felt the knot in his stomach unclench. Tony pointed down the hallway to the left. "Well, I heard you took the long route last time. Take the first left instead. Jarvis, you with me, buddy?"

"Just enough, sir," came the muffled reply, echoing down the hallway.

"Show Mr. America a few of my things. I'll be back up in a jiffy."

Without another word, he disappeared down another hallway, leaving Steve standing in his living room. Steve shook his head, taking the first left and ending up almost immediately at Tony's doorway. He clenched his jaw, looking back over his shoulder at the roundabout way he'd taken the other night, and, one deep, calming breath later, stepped back into Tony's room. Several pairs of black sweat pants and one pair of jeans were hanging at the ready, and Steve pulled them off their hangers, mind growing numb to how such things were even possible. And no, they were definitely not his size.

"Sorry, Mr. Rogers-"

"You can call me Steve, Jarvis," Steve said automatically, and then paused, wondering why he would even think to offer a computer courtesy.

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Steve, sir, my apologies," Jarvis said eventually, "but it seems as though we have nothing quite to your specifications. Mr. Stark's jeans are the closest in size, but the sweatpants should stretch."

"Thanks," Steve said, getting to work on his buttons. As his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants, he stopped, glancing at the ceiling. "Uh... Jarvis. A little privacy, please?"

"Of course, sir. I'll disengage all surveillance on this room for the duration of your stay."

" _Surveillance_ ," Steve mumbled dryly under his breath. Wasn't there any place in this green earth that was private anymore? The bloodied fabric stuck in places to his skin, which made it extra fun getting off. He moved into the bathroom, using wet toilet paper to clean off the brunt of whatever dried blood was left. When he felt moderately clean, he began pulling on pants.

The jeans were a definite no-go. He couldn't even get one leg in.

Three sweats in, he was beginning to feel like he should just pull his own clothes back on, screw the mess. It was dry anyway. His car would probably be fine.

Just as he was about to call it quits, he put his foot into the last pair of sweats, and they slid on easily. A little snug, but definitely not uncomfortable. Another foot, and still fine. He pulled it up around his waist, stretching. Not bad. Not bad at all. He stepped back into the bathroom, making sure nothing was tearing at the seams, and immediately looked away again. It... certainly didn't leave anything to the imagination. Maybe he should take Tony up on that kilt idea. He peeked back at himself, cringing. No matter how he stood, he ended up showing something off that he'd rather keep to himself.

There was a knock on the door, and he heard Tony's muffled voice, "You done yet? Find anything? It doesn't have to be perfect, you know. I found some extra fabric. We'll just wash your jeans, patch them up, and send you on your way, okay?"

All while Tony was talking, Steve felt panic rearing up in his throat. He dodged between the bedroom and the bathroom, trying to find something to cover up with. Who didn't keep towels on their towel racks?!

"Steve?" Tony asked, after he didn't answer.

"Uh yeah, just a second!" he yelled, hearing the tremor in his own voice.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, are you decent? I'm coming in," he said, and Steve dove into the covers, pulling them up around his waist. The door slid open, and Tony's eyes fell on him. For the first time Steve could remember, Tony said nothing. He opened his mouth a couple of times, looking like he wanted to say something, and then finally shook his head, eyebrows raised. "Listen, Steve. I know I make a lot of... innuendos, but Pepper and I-"

"NOTHING FIT," Steve said too loudly, the covers fisted in his hands. This. was. not. happening. Not happening.

"Oh," Tony said, staring at him for just a moment longer before his expression returned to its usual laugh-lined self. "So, idea number two. Kilt!"

"Why don't you just wash my pants for me, and I'll stay here?" Steve said frantically, much slower on the recovery.

"And Pepper comes home to find a strange man in my bed?" Tony laughed, disappearing into the bathroom and emerging a second later. He threw a very plaid bath robe across Steve's lap. "I don't think so. Cover up, big guy."

Steve sighed, wrapping the robe around him like a towel and emerging from beneath the covers. Tony's eyebrows went up when he saw the sweatpants poking out the bottom.

"They don't fit," Steve said firmly, staring evenly at him, and Tony shrugged.

"Whatever you say. Let's just get through this quickly. The less mess we leave behind, the better."

Steve's brow furrowed a bit, thinking of the wrecked lab. Did Tony already have it cleaned up? He was starting to think nothing was impossible in this house. But no, he must've meant the common area. Which meant Pepper.

"You aren't going to tell her?" he asked, and then immediately regretted it.

"Wow, yeah. Because that's your business," Tony said sarcastically. "And what, tell her I got attacked by my own suit? Really? She worries enough without wondering if I'm being ripped apart by my own creations, thanks."

Steve kept his mouth shut this time, because Tony was right. It wasn't any of his business. But that didn't mean he couldn't spot the problem a mile away. If Tony hid everything from Pepper, their relationship wasn't the only thing that would suffer. Whether it was homicidal suits or anxiety attacks, if she didn't know, there was no way for her to help. Which meant that he didn't have anyone to lean on. Tony was, through his own misguided sense of altruism, completely alone. And from Steve's experience, that was a dangerous place to be.

"You coming?" Tony asked, looking back at him in the doorway.

"Yeah," Steve nodded.

"Don't worry, I won't post pictures of this online," he grinned.

Steve snorted, unable to help himself from smiling, too. "I'd appreciate that."

"Nah, I'll sell um to the highest bidder. Private collections only," Tony continued, vanishing into the hallway.

"Very funny, Tony," Steve said, rolling his eyes. And then, more urgently, grabbing his bloodied jeans off the floor and chasing after him, "You are kidding, right? Tony?"


	14. Chapter 14

Tony was, of course, kidding about the pictures. Like he needed the money. Nah, he'd keep those pictures to himself, for a good laugh on a rainy day.

A day which looked to be sooner rather than later, as they emerged from Tony's room to find a newspaper-toting Pepper standing a ways down in the hallway, her lips stuck in mid-hello. Mid, because she'd apparently lost her ability to communicate after Steve emerged from the open doorway.

"This," Tony said, pointing his thumb at Steve, "is not what it looks like."

"That's... good," Pepper nodded slowly, her brows sinking continuously southward as she took in the entire scene, until Tony began to worry she might get stuck that way. "Because... I have... very few ideas as to what that might be." She looked up at Tony, and he was thankful that her confusion seemed to be staving off her frustration. "What exactly am I looking at?"

"I can't hold it in anymore. We're having an affair," Tony frowned, taking a deep breath. He heard a strangled noise behind him, and a shuffle as Steve tried to compose himself. "We were going to tell you, but I'm afraid you caught us."

"Wait, that's not-" Steve fumbled.

"Oh," Pepper interrupted, eyebrows going back up again in sarcastic agreement.

"Yes, Steve apparently has this kilt thing that's just impossible to resist. I'm so sorry, Pepper."

"No, I don't-" Steve attempted again.

"Well, I'm... deeply... something," she said, and there it was. The upturning at the corner of her mouth. The inability to retain anger in the face of something so ridiculous. He hadn't seen that look on her in a while, as often as he tried to stun her into laughter. He was glad she wasn't completely numb to it.

"I think the word you're looking for is jealous," Tony said quickly, stepping forward and kissing her. "Welcome home. Did you have fun?"

"Hardly," Pepper scoffed, returning her now-smiling gaze back to Steve. Just as quickly, it returned to a frown. And this time, the frown wasn't confused. Uh oh. "Is that _blood_?" She moved forward quickly, hand moving to her mouth as she realized just how much blood covered the jeans Steve was holding.

"He cut himself on the suit. Again," Tony said quickly, and Steve shot him a look. What? It wasn't a lie. Luckily, Pepper failed to notice the look, but the speedy explanation didn't seem to pacify her.

"Is this a regular thing?" she looked up, now staring straight at Steve. "Did this happen last time, too?" That could be a problem. Tony had no doubt that Steve could keep a wartime secret from an enemy, but he was pretty sure the man's technique would be to spit blood in their face and whisper, "I'd rather die than betray my country." He was far too expressive for subterfuge.

"No," Tony interjected again, this time bodily placing himself between them and placing his hands on her shoulders. She craned her neck to see around him. "And I actually came up with a new coating that should minimize the whole 'sharp' thing. It's pretty cool. In fact, so cool, you should see for yourself next time."

That got her attention.

"What- you want me to come watch?" she asked, surprised.

"I mean, if you want to," he said, and then turned, looking at Steve, who nodded.

"We'd love to have you, ma'am," he said with as much dignity as he could muster while wearing sweatpant jeggings and a bath robe kilt.

"Aw, that's so sweet," she smiled, putting a hand over her heart. Tony's smile broadened. "I'm just so moved!" His smile faltered slightly. She was laying it on a little thick... "I mean, what girl wouldn't want to watch you two boys ripping each other apart?"

Ah.

"Hey, don't be a hater," Tony said, mocking hurt as he dropped his hands. "Now, if you don't mind, us two boys need to do a little laundry."

"Fine. You didn't get blood on my carpet, did you?"

"And I promise we'll clean everything up, spick and span," Tony pointedly reassured, turning and herding Steve back to the laundry room.

"Tony! This carpet is brand new! Please tell me you didn't get blood anywhere! Tony!"

 

Once they were out of earshot, Steve stopped abruptly. Tony sighed, readying himself. "Okay, let's hear it. I lied, cheated, stole, blackmailed. I'm a terrible person. Come on, if it'll make you feel better."

"It wouldn't make me feel better," Steve said stiffly, and Tony could see the disappointment in his eyes. Damned expressive eyes. "Like you said earlier, it's none of my business."

"Then what's the problem?" Tony asked stubbornly, putting his hands on his hips.

Steve stepped in close, his voice hushed and threatening, "Don't _make_ it my problem again." Tony felt a thrill run through him, and probably not the kind Steve was aiming for.

"No promises," he murmured coyly, stepping back to put some distance between them. His jeans were already way too tight for that kind of argument.

"And stop saying... things," Steve said, making a sweeping motion between them with his free hand.

Tony knew exactly what he meant the moment the captain's ears began to turn red, but he couldn't resist, "Things?"

"I mean it, Tony," he insisted. "You think it's funny, but it isn't. I get enough crap about my suit without there being... rumors."

Tony felt the first wave of something other than selfish amusement, and he slapped Steve's shoulder reassuringly. "Come on, Cap. It's the 21st century. AC/DC's cool, and I don't just mean the band. Besides, what happens in Wayne Manor stays in Wayne Manor. You've got nothing to worry about."

"I have... no idea what you just said," Steve said, brow still furrowed, but his face had softened again. How was a guy who was cut sharper than Tony's suits able to pull off the boyish look? That just wasn't fair.

"I said, you keep delaying, and I'm gonna start wondering if you like being in my pants," Tony remarked, enjoying the way the red exploded back along Steve's neck. He pulled the jeans from Steve's fumbling grasp, making his way into the laundry room.


	15. Chapter 15

It was easy enough getting his pants cleaned up. Since it hadn't had time to set, the blood came out completely, leaving him with a pair of very clean, uneven-legged pants. Steve had been a little surprised when Tony hadn't had a laundry room full of half-clothed maids to do his bidding, and was even more surprised when, after the pants were clean, he took him into another room and began sewing a replacement leg back on the jeans himself.

Steve stood in the doorway a while, feeling awkward and useless (and so, incredibly, painfully ridiculous) as Tony stitched some random gray fabric to his jeans.

"Now, you aren't exactly going to be red carpet material with this, but it should get you through your front door without people wondering how much you charge."

"How much I charge?" Steve echoed, making sure for the hundredth time that the bath robe was secure around his waist. And he was pretty sure that he was going to have to peel off the sweatpants. They'd begun to feel like a second skin that needed shedding.

"You know," Tony answered, making a vague motion with one hand and shooting a look over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, grinning, "For _things._ "

Steve stared him all of two seconds longer, and then got it. Ah. Prostitution. He rolled his eyes, and Tony turned back to his work, chuckling to himself. Should he be keeping track of the innuendos? Maybe he should charge him for each one. Buy himself a mansion.

"Do you ever _not_ make inappropriate comments?" Steve felt compelled to ask. Since he didn't have to stare Tony in the eye while he asked it, maybe this was the perfect moment to have this conversation... again. Hopefully for the last time. Still, he felt his skin warming, his heartbeat increasing. His voice was even, though, and that's what mattered.

"Nope," Tony answered simply. Steve waited for the rest of it, but for the first time, Tony seemed to be content with a one-word answer.

"Don't you ever wonder if people will get the wrong idea?" Steve asked, wishing he were wearing something else. He couldn't even take himself seriously right now, so how could he expect the class clown to?

"What exactly is the 'wrong idea'?" Tony asked, and Steve clenched his jaw.

"You know," he said, "that you actually _do_ have a thing for them."

"I'd tell them I'm with Pepper," Tony said easily, pulling the fabric taut and continuing on.

"But what about before Pepper? What did you tell them then?" he pressed, wishing he could find some way to drive his point home.

At this, Tony stopped what he was doing, turning in his seat to give Steve a sideways look. Steve lifted his jaw, standing straighter.

"Come on, Steve, you know my MO," Tony said, smiling curiously.

"Yeah, billionaire playboy philanthropist," Steve said, exasperated. "You told me. From the rumors, you messed around with every skirt you could get your hands on."

"So what's the question?" Tony asked, and he seemed honestly intrigued.

"Well, what about the non... skirts. What would you tell them? There are bound to be a few pants out there who'd get the wrong idea. Not everyone realizes when you're kidding." There was no way he could phrase that any simpler. For a genius, Tony was pretty slow on the uptake. Steve felt confident, though. Maybe this time, he'd make Tony realize what he was doing.

Much to Steve's irritation, the lopsided smile got bigger, and Tony continued to study him, thankfully only appearing to studying his face. If Steve heard one more thing about his _kilt_ , he was going to punch someone.

"Steve," he said finally, his tone serious, even though his eyes were still laughing. Steve resisted the urge to shuffle, wondering why Tony's tone sounded so damned patient. _He_ wasn't the one not getting it. ...Unless. No... ...Really? "There is no 'wrong idea.'"

Did he mean...?

He...?

"Oh," Steve said, his voice just a little too high, eyebrows flicking up, and then descending back into their semi-usual perplexed position. "So you..." he started in a rush and trailed off, wanting to make certain that his epiphany was really an epiphany.

"Find pants comfy, too," Tony supplied helpfully. There was a long, awkward pause as Tony studied his reaction, and Steve attempted not to react. His face felt like it was on fire, however, so there was that. "And kilts, sometimes," he added. He turned back, continuing to work on Steve's pants. "It's the 21st Century, Steve-o. Skirts, pants, kilts... If it looks good, rock it."

He finished, pulling the newly-repaired jeans from the sewing machine and holding them out to Steve in victory. Steve failed to react, still stunned. Was it really not a big deal anymore? Sleeping around with... God, he couldn't even say it. The promiscuity alone would've been a scandal back in his day, much less the... pants-chasing. And how did Pepper feel about it? Did she not know? She had to know... right?

Tony stuffed Steve's pants back into his hands, and Steve jumped back like he'd been stung, his body reigned in too tight. Tony quickly took a step back, putting some distance between them, and for just a second there, just a split second, his eyes weren't laughing.

"Relax, Cap," he said slowly, and he had his serious voice back on again. "I'm with Pepper now."

Steve felt a wash of shame from his reaction, and followed Tony back to his room without another word spoken between them. It felt... weird. Tony's expression was loose again, his posture relaxed, but in that split second, something had changed. His stomach knotted.

He changed clothes quickly, fascinated by how well the quickly-fashioned addition fit, and emerged to find Tony leaning against the far wall, expression dark, brows knit. As soon as Tony caught sight of him, it was gone, hidden back behind a closed-mouth smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

The knot in his stomach doubled.

They walked to the living room, the dividing point between Tony's workspace and the front door, and Steve turned to him.

"Same time next week?" he asked awkwardly, his voice too tight, too cheerful.

"Yeah, sure," Tony nodded, but he was already looking down toward the half-open door to his basement. Already gone.

"Tony..." Steve started, wanting desperately not to leave it like this. If that was some test back there, he'd failed it. Now there was this weird wall, and he hadn't realized until now that he used to be on the other side of it.

"Yeah, same time," Tony interrupted, smiling and making eye contact with him just long enough to slap his shoulder. "Well, gotta clean. You heard Pepper. Blood on the carpet and all that, not to mention the lab. Catch ya later, Cap." And he was already walking away. Steve decided he hated when he did that. So he stood there, chest and fists clenched, wearing his own odd pants, until he heard Pepper shuffling around somewhere else in the house.

And then he left.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking pattern and continuing with Steve's POV in this chapter for reasons.

Two days. Two days of almost constant training, damn his leg. Two days of running the scene through his head. Two days of wondering if he should call, or do that other thing... text. He'd sent himself a couple of "texts" to test out the mechanism, and ended up feeling far too large of hand and small of brain. And two days of it repeatedly boiling down to the same thing: he'd hurt his friend. In a matter of moments, he'd damaged something between them. He was pretty sure it was the point where he'd jumped away, but really, he hadn't meant it. Not that way. Tony's sudden movement had more surprised him than anything, wound as tight as he was.

And after that, he was just too awkward to fix it.

And he really, _really_ wanted to fix it. Tony's friendship had been a fire in this wasteland. Despite being a living representation of almost everything Steve hated about this time period, Tony was a good person. He was witty, and fun, and smart, and most of all, didn't make Steve feel like he was slowly decaying as the world spun off without him.

He ran his thumb across his phone, the screen coming to life in his hand. Technology really was amazing. He hated almost every bit of it, but that didn't stop it from being miraculous. Right now, sitting right here on his bed, he could call Tony. No lines into the wall. No telephone operator patiently listening in on their conversation, although there were probably plenty of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He chewed on that thought. Could he apologize properly with a room full of shadow men analyzing his every word? He could barely keep up with Tony's melodramatic mood shifts without the extra pressure added. And if he waltzed into S.H.I.E.L.D. next month to save the day, could he look everyone in the eye, knowing that they'd heard his grand failure?

The phone went black, and he threw it onto his pillow.

Two seconds later, it was back in his hands again.

"C... om... No, not n... Not j... o... m... ing... Dangit, not g... No, don't autocorrect! Ov... er..." he said aloud, pressing each letter with his forefinger. It took him a solid two minutes, and he breathed deeply once the deed was done. Text sent.

He left the phone on his bed, grabbed his keys, and left before he had time to overthink it. After all, the longer he waited, the worse it would get. If he waited the full week, he would at best make himself sick wondering. At worst, he'd completely lose Tony's friendship.

Only after he'd pulled into Tony's long driveway did the second-guessing start. If he'd been criticized by some for being overeager before, this wasn't an improvement. Clingy was another word that came to mind. He swallowed. If this thing was breaking between them, who was he to single-handedly try and tape it back together?

He snorted. Well, he was Captain America. And even without that, he certainly wasn't a quitter. Maybe he couldn't do it single-handedly, but he should at least see where Tony stood before he jumped to any conclusions. Maybe this was all in his head. Maybe it wasn't even that big of a deal. Maybe... he should go inside.

The door slid open automatically as he raised his hand to knock, and his hand fell back limply to his side.

"Uh... hello?" he asked, leaning in through the open doorway.

"Mr. Rogers... Steve, sir, Ms. Potts is waiting for you in the kitchen," Jarvis supplied helpfully.

"Ms. Potts is waiting for me?" he asked, feeling that knot tighten. That didn't sound good.

He made his way slowly through the house, wondering why he felt like a school boy who'd been called to the principal's office. However, the house, while large, didn't last forever, and the kitchen unfolded in front of him, blindingly bright, modern, and looking completely unused. Ms. Potts was leaning with her back against the far counter, arms crossed, Tony's phone pressed against her lips. She looked up as he entered, immediately smiling. Steve felt a wash of relief.

"Steve, hey," she said, her voice tired, pushing away from the counter and coming over to him. There was an awkward shift as Steve stuck out his hand, she went for his cheek, and they just ended up giving each other mismatched pecks that left them both chuckling uncomfortably. She held up Tony's phone, "Sorry, I saw your text."

"Glad someone did," Steve said, brows furrowing.

"Tony doesn't need his phone to take calls," Pepper clarified, and Steve nodded in understanding.

"Oh, I thought that-"

"But he's cut himself off from calls in the basement," she interrupted in a rush, worry lines appearing on her forehead. Steve mirrored the expression.

"For how long?"

"Since you left," she said, biting her lip, and Steve felt his stomach drop. Had he eaten? Slept? "I don't even know if he's slept, much less eaten." So no. There was a lull, a deep, important pause as Steve tried to figure out what to say, how to explain himself. She beat him to it. "Listen, I don't know what happened, and honestly, I don't need to. It was probably his fault, and that's okay. He's a great guy, really, one of the best guys I've ever met, but I'm not blind to his genius-level stupidity." She smiled, and that only made it worse. Steve took a breath to correct her, but she held up a hand. "Just... don't give up on him, okay? I invited you to that party because you guys have some common ground, you know? You can be there for him on a different level than I can."

"You invited-?" Steve asked, surprised, but she waved it off. He thought Fury had somehow...

"Tony can't afford to lose you, Steve," she said sincerely, and Steve felt his chest squeeze. "And I can't afford to. I have a business to run. I can't do this..." she motioned at the house, her tone turning exasperated, "by myself, every day. I can't stand in here, wondering if he'll come out of his cocoon long enough to keep himself alive. Not every day. Weekends, maybe, but-" She clenched her teeth, crossing her arms back again. "He's so damned selfish."

Steve waited while she took deep, rattling breaths to calm herself, and found himself smiling at her. She was angry that she was worried about him.

"Actually, ma'am," he said slowly, "it was my fault. He told me something, and I reacted... regretfully."

"Like I said," she frowned, shaking her head, but he could see some of the worry lines in her forehead easing up. "I don't need to know."

"And I'm not throwing in the towel just yet," he continued, and there went a few more worry lines. Just how many friends had left him like this, to make her worry so much? If nothing else, he was fully invested now. Maybe he could tape their friendship up single-handedly, or at least enough to help Pepper Potts to sleep at night. "I just need to talk to him."

"Thanks, Steve," she took a step forward, putting a hand on his arm. He nodded. "You're a really good guy, you know that?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that, ma'am," he laughed, feeling a little guilty that he'd somehow become the hero in cleaning up his own mess.

"I mean it. He's lucky to have you," she continued, and Steve started to feel that awkwardness welling up in his belly again. Her eyes were loaded with... something meaningful. He was pretty sure everything he'd wanted to say had already been said, and resisted the urge to squirm. Still, she continued slowly, carefully. "Tony really is a handful. He's like a kid, sometimes. Always needs something. Anything you want to do that would lighten my load would be appreciated."

Steve nodded slowly, smiling despite his confusion. She was searching his face for something. He wondered if she found it.

"I mean it, Steve. Anything."

"Sure. Of course," he said, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. Had he just adopted Tony? Monday, Wednesday, Friday, that sort of thing? He had a bad feeling.

She seemed satisfied with this, though, retracting her hand.

"So, any idea how to get in touch with him? I assume the basement is sound proof," Steve said, eager to return from their foray into feelings. He recalled the amount of noise the renegade suit had to make before he'd been able to hear it through the floor. He didn't plan to tear up their house just to get Tony's attention.

"Yes, but he won't like it," she said, and although she was biting her lip again, Steve could see a glint of remorseless mischief in her eyes.

They really were a fantastically frightening pair at times.


	17. Chapter 17

Tony's stomach had stopped creaking a while ago, and he actually had managed to sleep: one time, accidentally, with his cheek pressed against the thigh of a suit he was repairing. He had the crick in his neck to prove it. The big suit, the defensive beast, had sustained no damage, which was good. One of his main, actual suits (the ones he wore in combat) had bent a couple of fingers, which wasn't too bad. Between cleaning up the lab and repairs, he hadn't thought much about the outside world. He'd managed to clear away most of the debris and patch up major repairs, and all that was left were the small repairs, which were numerous, and reordering parts he couldn't fix himself, which were few.

Pepper had called him once during the first few hours. Something about going out to dinner. He hadn't felt like it, so he declined and cut the phones off. It wasn't a big deal, right? There was plenty of work to be done.

Another plus: he hadn't left his lab to grab even a single beer. The light-headedness and lack of coordination he was currently experiencing had absolutely nothing to do with inebriation, and that was certainly something to be proud of. On the flipside, he was currently experiencing light-headedness and a definite lack of coordination. How long had he been down here, anyway? He looked at his watch out of habit, but it still read 3:35 pm. Yep. Still broken. Groaning, he pressed his forehead against the smooth metal of the nearest table, closing his eyes to the screens that surrounded him.

Maybe it was time for a break.

There was a pop. Faint, barely audible, and the blue tint against his eyelids disappeared. Nope. Nope, he wasn't going to deal with that. That hadn't happened. He closed his eyes tighter. He had _not_ just lost power. Because if he'd lost power, than he'd lost at least six hours of work. And if he'd lost six hours of work, he was definitely going to jump off something tall and... spire-y. Maybe he'd take a nap first, think of something less idiotic to jump from, and then jump off it.

A high-pitched creak from up the stairs, followed by muffled voices.

"What, alone?" said muffled voice number one.

"I really don't think he'll want to talk to me right now," said muffled voice two. Evil, hateful muffled voice two, which was definitely the voice that had driven him to jump off of non-spire-y things.

Footsteps, ridiculously heavy and stupid and, _God_ , did nobody have a right to their own space anymore? What happened to bachelor Tony, free from all this care-giving?

"Remind me never to teach her anything cool about the house's wiring ever again," Tony mumbled, not entirely caring if voice number one was within earshot.

"Hey to you, too," said Steve, and Tony groaned, forcing himself to sit up and open his eyes against the too-dark room. Six hours of work, at least.

"What's something tall that isn't a spire?" he asked, and yeah, this was as far as he felt like going. He'd run out of physical steam a few hours ago, which was one of the reasons he'd started reprogramming things. Mental energy lasted longer. Not forever, though, apparently.

"Uh..." Steve floundered, and Tony could see his bulk shifting in the dark. Not moving any closer. He wondered how much more Steve could see in this lighting. "I don't know... a suspension bridge?"

"Bingo," Tony agreed. That was way cooler. "Drag me over to one of those, will you?"

"Tony..." Steve warned, and Tony wondered vaguely what he was warning him against. Jumping? Because he was pretty sure he already knew that was a bad thing. But he was a natural rule-breaker.

"Kidding." Probably. Tony sighed. "So, what is it? You bringing me a sandwich or something?" he asked pointedly, swiveling his chair as quickly as he could without throwing himself off, which wasn't very fast.

"Oh, uh. No. Did you want one?" Steve asked, and Tony snorted. Oh, so that was his game plan. He knew he'd "done bad," so he was going to make it up with... sandwiches. No, that wasn't quite right. Something like that.

"Yeah, and maybe some chips. Oh, and while you're at it, maybe turn the power back on? I'd like to see what tiny portion of the last six hours of work I haven't lost."

Tony couldn't judge expressions in the dark, but if he had to guess, he'd say that on a guiltiness scale of 1 - 10, that pause was at least a seven. He felt a little better.

"Sure, but... can we talk first?" Steve asked, and Tony rolled his eyes. He just wanted to work. Really, how was that so difficult? Make one suit. Test it. Make another suit. Test it. Destroy an alien race with army of suits. Die content. Really, not hard.

"Can we not?" Tony asked, his head feeling heavy. Okay, so definitely sleep first, and then work.

"I'm afraid that isn't an option."

"Either you're going to apologize, which is boring, or you're going to justify yourself, which is stupid. Come on, Steve, can we not do this? Please?"

"Sorry, buddy, I'm afraid you're gonna have to muscle through it," Steve said, his dark shape getting larger. Ugh. Really, really didn't want to do this. Especially not now, with him running at 20% tops. How come Steve always got to mess with him when he was falling apart? How was that fair? The table creaked as Steve leaned against it. Even if his eyes were closed and his ears plugged, he could've stated with certainty that Steve was close. He was like a furnace. Tony resisted the urge to scoot away.

"That had better be the best sandwich in the South-Eastern United States," Tony finally relented, leaning his head on one hand. He heard Steve's relieved sigh. Audible. So easy to read, even in the dark. Was Pepper going to turn the lights on anytime soon? Had he taught her how? Or did she only remember how to cut the wires?

"Yeah, so I guess I'm taking the boring route," Steve chuckled nervously. "I'm sorry, you know, about the other day."

"All's well, Cap. Now if you'll please excuse-"

"No," Steve interrupted firmly, and whether it was his exhaustion or the imperative nature of Steve's tone, he actually stopped. Steve waited, probably expecting him to interrupt, and then continued slowly, "Not yet. I half expected you to pretend like nothing happened, but pretending it's _okay_ is just as bad. I don't buy it, and for the record, neither does Pepper."

"Wow, okay. Recap. Pepper is none of your business. Didn't we already-?"

"You kinda made it my business. Again," Steve said, not unapologetically.

"What do you want me to do, then? Huh, Steve?" Tony asked, shifting so that he could rub at his eyes with the hand he was leaning on. Maybe he would just fall asleep right here. Save himself the trouble.

"I don't know. Say something that isn't bullshit, maybe? Get angry?"

"I'm angry that you're sitting here, not letting me get to work, when we both clearly said we'd touch base next week. I'm _angry_ that you just cut off my power and lost six plus hours of work. Should I go on?" Tony asked, exasperated.

"No," Steve said, scooting off the table and kneeling in front of him. "Not if you're going to use the work to escape from dealing with this."

"To... what?" Tony asked, pulling his face out of his hand. Okay, he was still awake enough to get a little angry. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not wrong, Tony. Use some of that genius brain of yours for some introspection."

"You know, I'm noticing a real absence of apologies here. Aren't we forgetting about something?"

"About what?" Steve asked, just a little too innocently, and Tony should've heard it, really, but the _nerve_ of him to come down there and call him an escapist, when all he'd been doing for weeks was smacking around sand bags? Really?

"About the fact that you were a dick yesterday?" Tony spat, clenching his hand against the table and leaning forward in his chair. He could barely see small bits of light reflecting off the Captain's eyes.

"It's been two days," Steve corrected, and that only pissed him off more.

"Oh, _excuse me_. Two days since you revealed yourself as a homophobic asshole. Mr. Captain America, all-American hero, and you can't even take the thought of two guys dicking around together. They say _I'm_ the fucked up one, but-"

The lights went on, suddenly, as if they had always been that way. And Tony didn't stop talking because of the lights, because really, who cared about those. Lights were just another state of being. A useful one, of course, but no. No, he'd stopped talking because two inches away, maybe three, the Captain's big blue eyes were staring at him. So close that, once Tony stopped yelling, he could feel the exhalations from Steve's too-warm lungs. His breath caught. And Steve didn't move. He just sat there, a deer in the headlights, eyes big and shocked and two fucking inches away. It was Tony who finally coughed, and they both blinked and fell apart.

Steve sprung to his feet, turning his back, but Tony didn't have the energy for that, so he just sat there a while longer, feeling dazed.

There was a long, weird silence, and Tony wondered if he should apologize. Wondered why he felt like he should apologize. It wasn't his fault he made Steve uncomfortable. He couldn't be responsible for everyone's feelings all the time. He could barely handle his own. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the crick spring to life again.

"Uhm," Steve cleared his throat, and he was leaning back against the table again, back to Tony, shoulders hunched, his neck and ears red. Stupid guilty schoolboy bullshit. Tony hated that he couldn't feel as angry when half of him felt like trying to comfort the man.

"It's okay," Tony sighed, feeling the anger slowly leaking out of him. He was too tired to sustain it for long. And then added emphatically, "Really. So just, go make me that sandwich. I'll sleep, and we'll forget it ever happened, okay? Clean slate."

Steve shook his head, and Tony felt his insides clench, wondering if they were in for a light-up version of the previous conversation.

"No, let's not forget. You're right. About everything. That word... I haven't heard it before, but... homophobic. Fear of... things involving two people?" Steve said slowly, not turning around. "It makes me... uncomfortable."

Tony was about to just take off, screw recapping their previous conversation, when a word stuck out to him.

"Two... people?" he asked, interested. For just a moment there, requiring way too much thought to keep Tony's focus for long, he wondered if perhaps, maybe, Steve was just shy in general. There were definitely some bi-fears in there, but if Steve couldn't say "sex" without blushing like a schoolgirl, maybe it wasn't as bad as he'd thought.

Steve looked over his shoulder, and he was biting his lip. He looked so much like Pepper, Tony wanted to laugh. He didn't have enough energy left for that though, so he just smiled.

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said all night, Cap. Now, if you don't mind, I've been about to keel over for the past three or four hours, I think," he groaned, pushing himself to his feet and nearly falling over forward in the process. Steve dove forward to steady him, and Tony patted him on the chest affectionately. "Two days..."

"Huh?" Steve asked, putting an arm around his waist and pulling Tony's arm around his shoulder. Tony didn't need _that_ much support, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He felt like he was on solid ground again, and not just because the strongest non-Hulk on the planet was helping him up the stairs.

"You said that shit happened two days ago?" he clarified, and Steve nodded. "Jeeze, have I been down here that long? No wonder my legs feel like jello. And good God, I'm hungry. Okay, so how about this: you just make like... the biggest sandwich ever, and I'll just fall sleep in it, okay? Sound good?"

Steve grinned, and Tony felt the fingers on his waist tighten. It sent a jolt of warmth down his spine.

"Sure, Tony. Whatever you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, I'm shit at angst. Sorry to everyone who expected them to stay angry for another 20 chapters...


	18. Chapter 18

As expected, Tony pulled away right before they reached the top of the stairs, although Steve made sure to hang back a little, just in case he missed a step. Pepper was standing at the top, arms crossed, and Tony pointed at her crossly.

"Not. Cool," he said, but there was no venom in his voice.

Pepper's eyes darted over to Steve's face, which still sported a pleased smile he wasn't even trying to wipe off, and he watched her shoulders visibly relax. Tony, seeing her returned smile, looked over his shoulder at Steve, then back at Pepper, brows pinched.

"Should I ask?" he asked, scratching his stomach.

"Nope," Pepper said cheerily, taking a deep breath and letting it out. She looked down at her watch. "And on that note, I have a meeting in twenty minutes." She stepped forward, gave Tony a kiss that lingered, let her hands slide down his arms, and took off out the front door, looking like an entirely different person than the woman Steve saw standing in the kitchen earlier. Steve shook his head, fascinated.

"So I guess that just leaves you, me, and a ham sandwich," Tony said, his voice growing lower and more gravely as he fought his exhaustion. It sounded... nice. Steve's smile broadened, but he quickly wiped it off, clearing his throat as Tony glanced his way.

"Yes, sir," Steve said, standing up straighter. "One bed-sized ham sandwich, coming right up."

"Good man," Tony said, eyes sparkling with something that Steve couldn't identify. He straightened his back for all of two seconds to salute Steve before his shoulders hunched over again, a yawn pulling his mouth wide.

Steve led the way into the kitchen, quickly making himself at home and asking Jarvis whenever he couldn't find something. Tony slid into one of the bar stools, watching him with half-lidded eyes as he moved around the kitchen and yawning every third breath.

It turned out that they did, in fact, use the kitchen, although it seemed more like a bachelor pad than a working family space. Half the food in the fridge had spoiled, including the first couple of mustard containers Steve pulled out of the door. It was a challenge locating meat that hadn't turned colors and condiments that didn't have a layer of grime on the tip.

"Ketchup?" he asked, pulling one of the few bottles that looked brand new. A grunt, and he looked over to find Tony's eyes fully closed, although his head was still perched atop his hand like some weird Tony bust statue. "Tony, ketchup?"

"No ketchup," came the sloppily mumbled reply, his eyes remaining closed, and Steve laughed silently to himself, moving to the back counter to put on the finishing touches.

The finished sandwich wasn't bed-sized, but it was close. He ran a knife through it, cutting it in half, and turned to lay his masterpiece (because really, it was a masterpiece... Steve didn't cook, but he was confident in his sandwich-making abilities) on the table.

At some point, however, Tony had toppled from the tower of his hand, and was lying in a puddle on the counter, arms pulled in to cushion his head against the marble.

"Tony?" Steve asked quietly. No answer. Not even a grunt. Tony's breaths were even, his face smooth and untroubled. Steve shook his head again, looking down at the sandwich. He felt a prickle of something foreign. Something wicked. Biting his lip, he leaned forward, jeering softly into Tony's ear. "Tony, I'm gonna eat your sandwich."

Tony's brows constricted for a moment, his chest expanding with a deeper breath.

"Here I go," Steve continued, holding up one half. One of Tony's fists clenched weakly, and he made a soft noise of protest. "I'm gonna take a bite..." Steve brought the sandwich up, opening his mouth. Faster than he thought possible, Tony's hand shot out, grabbing him by the wrist. Tony's eyes were cracked open only slightly, and they blinked as Tony grumbled something that probably would've been hateful if it had been intelligible. Pulling Steve's hand down, Tony took a lazy bite, crooning contentedly as he chewed. Steve watched to make sure he swallowed, and then carefully took the sandwich out of his own hand and pushed the plate away, his body shaking with laughter.

He gently removed Tony's fingers, which had softened from their previous vice-like grip, and watched as he rearranged himself back to his previous position on the counter top.

Which, of course, was a problem. He couldn't leave Tony asleep on the counter. As the sole adoptive guardian of this man-child, he had sworn to protect him from himself. Or something. Ah... Pepper's sudden departure was beginning to make a lot more sense.

"Come on, then," he sighed, feeling foolish as he walked around and pulled one of Tony's arms over his shoulder again. Once off the seat, Tony began to slide unceremoniously to the ground, Steve scrambling to hang onto him as Tony melted into and through his grip. Steve found himself holding a lot more of Tony's shirt, which had gathered up around his chest, and a lot less of Tony himself. He tried pulling Tony up again, earning himself a disconcerted sound from the sleeper, and realized that some part of Stark was actually attempting to wet noodle his way to the ground. Just like that first, inebriated night in the hallway.

Steve ground his teeth, fighting for patience. This was _not_ going to be his job as Tony's friend. He released him, and Tony sank to the ground, splaying out across the tile. Once there, limbs spread every which-away, tank top still gathered up underneath his arm pits, he relaxed again. Well, it was better than the counter top.

"I'm gonna leave you here," Steve warned, crossing his arms. No answer. He shook his head in disbelief, making his way over to the forgotten sandwich and stuffing it into his mouth. "Un I'm eafing yow sanich."

Still no answer, although Tony had curled into himself a little and goosebumps had sprung up across his skin. No wonder, with his back against the tile like that. Steve practically threw the sandwich back on the plate, splattering mustard on the counter, and, after cleaning up the mustard, marched purposefully over to the spot where Tony lay. In a single, graceful motion, he swooped Tony up into his arms, just like he promised he'd never do again.

"Now who owes who a freaking sandwich," he grumbled to himself, ignoring the weak sounds of protest as Steve made his way back through the house, taking care not to bump heads or legs against door frames.

About halfway to Tony's room, which Steve was becoming unhealthily familiar with, the sounds of protest dissolved back into calm, even breaths. He felt Tony's body relax, melting against him as if he were the cold tile floor he'd been trying to reach earlier. Steve tried to ignore this, just as he tried to ignore the warm breaths ghosting against his neck, but soon began to feel the heat crawling across his own skin. If he had to guess, he'd say he was probably a light shade of pink by this point, maybe darker. Two sandwiches, at least. Three. God knew Tony could afford to make him a million sandwiches. At least he was completely conked out. He'd probably make some raunchy comment, and now, knowing what Steve knew about his preferences, he wouldn't be able to completely write it off.

He'd say something like, "Isn't this supposed to be reserved for your wife or something?" or "You just wanted an excuse to get my shirt off," because yes, until this specific moment, he really hadn't noticed that Tony's shirt was still up too high, and yes, half his torso was still very visible. He certainly wasn't in bad shape. Was suit-building that much of a workout? Steve cleared his mind and readjusted his grip... and became hyper-aware of his hands. Was he... touching anything? He felt his breathing speed up, even though, no, legs and waist. That's all. There was no way Tony could claim that he'd done anything indecent. He hadn't done anything indecent.

By the time he dumped Tony onto his bed, his face was bright red, and he wondered sharply if Jarvis had meant he wouldn't film him at _all_ in the house or just while he was changing. He couldn't bring himself to ask.

_Two days since you revealed yourself as a homophobic asshole._

He chewed his lip, feeling Tony's righteous anger hit him again. How did other people react to this kind of situation, when they weren't being _phobic_?

Steve bent down, pulling Tony's somehow-now-indecent shirt back down around his hips, and then, less frantically, pulled off Tony's shoes and placed them by the foot of the bed.

Because if he was being taped, none of that would look weird at all.

At least it was a start. He would just have to learn to calm himself. Not be awkward. Not be an asshole. It had been so long since he'd disappointed someone, he'd forgotten how terrible it felt. He was determined for it never to happen again.

"And it won't," he swore to himself and the sleeping figure below. And then, as per what was unfortunately becoming their daily routine, Steve headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the first three-day strain without an update... You guys can take a breather. I'll be back on Monday with more (:  
> Also, someone should write me a new summary. I know that one is crap :I I hate thinking up those things.


	19. Chapter 19

Tony woke up feeling refreshed and remarkably clear-headed. A quick look at his watch... Nope, still broken.

"Jarvis, what time is it?" he asked, beginning his morning ritual, sans painkillers. Huh. His shoes were at the end of the bed again. Morning, Steve.

"Three in the morning, sir. You've been asleep almost thirteen hours," Jarvis supplied helpfully. Good. If he was lucky, Pepper would still be asleep, and he'd be able to start working again with no guilt trips. He pulled on some new clothes (the ones he'd slept in were fairly unpleasant), and tip-toed through the hallway. The house was dark, aside from the parts that lit up automatically as he entered, and he reached the door to the basement without a single stumble.

"I'd give that one 9.3 out of 10," he whispered to himself, feeling smug.

"Indeed, sir," Jarvis agreed cheerily, always eager to partake in a celebratory atmosphere. "A picture perfect escape."

Tony paused, fingers hovering over the keypad for the door.

"Escape?" he asked, feeling a oddly offended. He already knew what Jarvis meant, but the choice of words bothered him.

"From Ms. Potts' wrath, sir. You did dodge a proverbial bullet, did you not?"

"Of course, yeah," he agreed readily, but his fingers continued to hover. Damn it, Steve. How was it escaping if you were creating something of value? "Jarvis, we're not using the word 'escape' anymore. Strike it from your vocabulary."

"Stricken, sir," Jarvis reported. But in the moments it took Tony to decide, his stomach, sensing an opening, began to twist and moan. He vaguely remembered eating something before he fell asleep, but that _was_ thirteen hours ago. Okay, then. Food first, then work.

The lights in the kitchen blinked lazily to life, fluttering as if his sudden appearance had surprised them. He knew from past experience that they had little food in the house, but the pizza joints were all closed at this time of night, and it would cost him precious minutes to drive anywhere. Besides, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he was craving something else. Something specific. When he opened the fridge, he discovered what that something was. Shrink-wrapped on a plate were the battered remains of a sandwich. It sported two gaping bite holes and had a hand-written note taped to the top.

" _I think this was meant for you_ ," he read aloud, recognizing Pepper's slanted scrawl. She thinks? So she didn't make it, as if that had ever been a possibility. And if it was _meant_ for him, then he probably didn't make it himself. That left a very select few. So few, in fact, that he couldn't say for certainty if that person actually existed. Narrow that down to the only person he could (very, very vaguely) remember from the day before... He felt a warm bubble swell in the center of his chest, and stretched his shoulders back in an attempt to disperse it.

He shut the fridge, swallowed, and then opened it again, perplexed.

Steve had made him a sandwich.

Tony rubbed his temples, forcing his brain to dredge up half-formed memories from the day before. They came back disjointed, in bursts of light from his computer screens, pitch black darkness, and swells of sleep-deprived emotional outbursts, none of which felt like the types of things that led to sandwich making.

Shaking his head, he shut the fridge again. He couldn't just eat it. After all, it might be the last sandwich anyone ever made him.

No, he'd save it.

Until when? How was that even slightly reasonable? He felt the bubble in his chest grow hot, and he tapped it with his fist, as if it were a bit of indigestion he could belch away.

Quickly, he yanked open the fridge again, tore off the shrink wrap, and stuffed the sandwich in his mouth, taking too-huge bites until the entire thing was gone.

There.

He plopped the plate in the sink, leaving it for later, and headed back to the basement.

Still, as he readied his hand over the key pad, he found himself hesitating.

 _Use the work to escape from dealing,_ Steve whispered into his mind's ear, and Tony shuddered, remembering in a rush the anger he'd felt the day before.

That was stupid. What did a guy who ran around in primary colored spandex know about anything? He was working _to_ deal. Working to create a better defense. That day they'd talked over Chinese food, he thought Steve had understood. No, he _had_ understood. Tony was a damned good judge, and Steve wasn't that good at hiding his emotions. So if Steve agreed that the work was necessary, or at least purposeful, then how could he turn around and say Tony was using it as a crutch? How was it possible to be doing some of the most important work on the planet and also be dodging your responsibilities? Wasn't protecting the earth kind of the biggest responsibility? So what if Pepper didn't get to see him for a couple days, or he skipped a meal every now and then? So what if he lost a couple of transient friendships?

Wasn't the world more important?

Tony realized that the hand hanging mid-air in front of the keypad had turned into a fist, and he forced himself to unclench it, bringing it back down to his side. The warm bubble in his chest had turned hard, and he stared angrily at the keypad, as if it were the root of his problem. Still, he couldn't bring himself to unlock it. As much as he denied it, Steve had a point. Even if it was a stupid, arbitrary point. Tony was a genius, though. It didn't have to be black and white. Maybe he could find a loophole. Maybe he could take a break _and_ help increase the planet's defenses.

Maybe his day off didn't have to be a waste of time.


	20. Chapter 20

Today, he was going to do something different. He didn't know what yet, but something. He wasn't going to rush to the gym at six in the morning to destroy punching bags, nor was he going to head over to Tony's house to rescue the man from himself. If he was going to live in this era, he needed to start actually living. Maybe he'd go see a movie. He'd resisted turning on the television in his room, although he'd insisted that he be given a room with all the modern technologies. The room he'd woken up in that first day, the last time he'd felt truly secure, had been a farce. As much as he disliked being surrounded by the twentieth century, it was worse living a lie. So, television it was. Even if it did remain off for the entirety of his stay.

Moving picture shows, though. Those he could wrap his mind around. The neighborhood coming together to share a common experience. Yeah, that's what he'd do today. He'd see a movie.

By himself.

He took a deep breath, heading for the door. As he reached for the knob, there was a soft pop and an explosion of light, and Steve jolted sideways defensively, eyes darting around the room. The culprit sat innocently on his shelf: the TV, which had mysteriously come to life.

"No, we aren't doing this today," he told it firmly, willing his day back to normalcy as he switched the contraption off. He watched it a moment longer, assuring himself that it wasn't going to roar to life again as soon as he turned his back. Once assured, he began his journey back to the door, one foot in front of the other. A movie. Something normal. Maybe he'd meet some nice girl. Share a bag of popcorn. His insides twisted, and he hesitated, fingers hovering above the doorknob.

It didn't pay to wonder what his life would've been like if he'd stayed at home. If he hadn't diverted that plane, or saved all those people, or gotten stuck in an ice cap until everyone he knew and loved had passed on. It didn't pay to wonder, but that didn't stop his chest from squeezing the breath out of him every time he caught himself thinking about it.

The door knob jittered dangerously of its own accord, and he stared at it, jostled from his thoughts. No. No, he wasn't doing this today. Today was going to be a normal day. He was going to see a movie.

As if to spite him, the lock clicked open, and the door flew at his face. He caught it easily, but not before a dark shape skittered past him into his room. He closed his eyes, fingers tight on the open door.

"Hey," Tony managed, breathing heavily as he darted to Steve's window and peeked through the blinds.

"Tony..." Steve said, trying to keep his voice even as the crazed genius flitted around his room, checking corners and peeking in drawers and lifting up his mattress. "What are you-?"

"No time. Two minutes, maybe three..." Tony paused, looking Steve up and down. "Were you headed somewhere?"

"Uh, to the movies," Steve said raggedly, feeling the normalcy of this day slipping away.

"Hot date?" Tony asked, white teeth making their first appearance of the day, although the smile was a little too wide and just a tad too manic for Steve to gain any consolation from the gesture.

"Not exactly," Steve said vaguely, and then amended truthfully, shaking his head. "No."

"You do now," Tony said swiftly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him out the door. Steve dug his heels in, and Tony whiplashed to a stop, glaring sideways, as if Steve were the crazy one.

"Tony, what're you doing?" Steve asked, looking his friend over. Tony's eyes were moving a mile a minute. That never portended anything good.

"Testing something! _Come on!_ " Tony insisted, giving Steve's arm a final tug that would've done nothing if he hadn't relented, following him out the door. Once they were outside on the pavement, Tony ushered him into a sleek black car, shut the door behind him, and crawled behind the wheel. When the vehicle roared to life, Steve immediately wished he'd stayed in his room. As they flew away from the curb, he dug his fingers into the door handle, leaving finger-shaped dents in the plastic. Pedestrians, street signs (including a few stop signs), and all normally-moving cars seemed to be standing still around them, and honestly, it hadn't even occurred to Steve that cars could _move_ at this pace. Ever. Because they shouldn't. He closed his eyes for a moment, but quickly opened them again, realizing that he'd be helpless to assist if Tony caused a wreck.

Unable to keep still any longer, he reached over, placing a calming hand on Tony's upper arm. Tony glanced down at it, then at him, then in the rear view mirror, and then slowly, slowly began reducing his speed.

"Okay," Steve said after several minutes, once they were moving at a velocity that he could properly measure. "Talk."


	21. Chapter 21

"I'm kidnapping you," Tony said simply, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought to retain some seriousness. This was an experiment, after all. Steve didn't say anything, but he removed his hand from Tony's arm, which probably didn't imply positive feelings toward that statement. Not that Tony minded. He was in a mood to make waves. Leaving his work behind today had been difficult, and even now he could feel it pulling at the edges of his mind. Ideas for new suits. Upgrades on the old ones. Improvements to his work area, now that some space had been cleared out. No, he wasn't perfectly at peace right now, so why did everyone else deserve to be?

That said, this _was_ an experiment, and in some circles, it might even be considered a necessary one.

"Okay," Steve said slowly, and Tony could hear the hesitation in his voice. The desire to make his words more gentle, because he didn't know if Tony was in a _fragile_ state right now. On a normal day, this breed of care-taking would rub him the wrong way, but since Tony was already breaking some rules, it only allowed him to further justify his actions.

There was another nice, long pause, until finally Tony couldn't keep still any longer.

"We're testing response times," he blurted.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping an eye on all of them, that much was certain. Perhaps this was due to the dangerous nature of their abilities. Perhaps this was because of their importance during the next possible planetary wars. Either way, they were sparing no cent in surveillance equipment and moderate-wage warm bodies. It had taken Tony nearly an hour to locate and simultaneously disengage all the bugs in Steve's apartment, not to mention scrambling the orders that arrived from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to blind them and give himself a window of opportunity.

Hence the necessity of this test. If one of them dropped off the face of the earth, how long would it take their government to find them? Minutes? Hours? Days? It was important to know these things.

And not just because he wanted to screw around with the men in black every once in a while.

"Probably not a bad idea," Steve said, and Tony jerked sideways, barely missing a traffic cone.

He coughed, clearing his throat, "Pardon?"

"Well, if they're watching us anyway, we should see how long it takes them to catch up," Steve clarified, looking peacefully out the window. Tony studied his profile for a while, fascinated. Just like that first time on the ship, when Steve had burst into the room carrying the physical proof against Fury's "no weapons" claim. Sometimes, he was pleasantly reminded just how much of a rebel the good little soldier was. He felt warmth stir in his abdomen, and he tightened his grip on the wheel, resisting the urge to push his car back to its usual jet speed.

"So, what movie?" Tony asked, noting the drop in pitch in his own voice.

"Dunno, what's out?" Steve asked, as if being kidnapped and pursued by field agents into a movie theater were the most natural thing in the world.

As it turned out, nothing was out. Tony hid his car in a camera-less parking garage a couple of blocks down, and as they stood in front of the wall of text, he began to fidget. Steve didn't seem to be in any hurry, brow furrowed as he stared at the mass of movie titles, but Tony couldn't keep his eyes from wandering. S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't found them yet, or Jarvis would've let him know via vibrating text, but if they didn't move into the theater (which had been a fantastic idea, thanks Steve) soon, they were at a high risk of getting caught. There were at least three cameras turned in their direction, and those were just the ones he could see.

"What's your favorite movie, sweetheart?" Tony jumped in, smiling broadly at the ticket girl.

"Me?" she asked shyly, eyes rolling up in thought. "Umm, well... I really like the one with the dogs. Let's see, I think it's called... _It Takes A-_ "

"That one sounds great. Two, please," Tony grinned, and her eyes widened a little, darting over to where Steve stood, still staring in puzzled contemplation over the vast array of titles.

"Yes, sir. Enjoy the movie, sir," she said, a small smile creeping across her face as she handed him the tickets. He wondered at it only briefly, dragging Steve behind him out of the cameras' line of sight. After quickly grabbing a bag of popcorn, which earned him an odd look from the Captain, they disappeared into the darkness of the theater.

"What're we watching?" Steve whispered, grabbing a handful of popcorn after they'd taken their seats in the near-empty theater. If Tony had attempted to strategically place the bag, he couldn't have picked a better spot. As it were, his lap was the most logical place for it. Either there or Steve's lap, and something told him that "I just wanted the last few kernels" might not cut it later on down the road. So his lap it was.

"No clue," Tony murmured back honestly. "Something about dogs."

That turned out to be mostly untrue. It wasn't _about_ dogs. There _were_ dogs, one belonging to each of three people. A lady, her sassy gay friend, and a man who had mistakenly adopted a mutt after a series of unfortunate events. Something told him that the man would not only discover his love for the dog, but also learn a lot about himself as the movie progressed. And maybe make out with the chick somewhere in there, probably at the end. About twenty minutes into the movie, he could feel Steve sinking down into his seat.

Tony, on the other hand, thought it was hilarious. Not the movie. The movie was shit. The circumstance was great, though.

"Plot twist: Miss. Dalmatian turns out to be a lesbian, and Chinese Crested and Mr. Mutt get down and dirty in that alleyway over there," Tony murmured, popping another couple of kernels into his mouth. Steve jerked away, frowning at him, and even in the low lighting, Tony could see his calming breaths. "Come on, loosen up. It could be worse." Steve looked down the rows of seats, and Tony followed his line of sight. The only other people in the theater were two couples, and both of them were getting rather handsy.

"They're going to find us, Tony," Steve hissed. "They're going to find us in a movie theater, watching a... a..." he made a vague gesture at the screen.

"Chick flick?" Tony offered.

" _Chick flick_ ," Steve echoed harshly, "surrounded by..." he made a noncommittal sound.

"Couples getting it on?"

" _Yes_."

"What's the problem?" Tony asked. Steve reached over, grabbing more popcorn and stuffing it fervently into his mouth. "What, you worried they're gonna look at you weird? Who cares?"

"I care," Steve said, his voice muffled by the popcorn. He swallowed, leaning into Tony to better whisper his argument. It sent a thrill racing under Tony's skin. "I care! Appearance means a lot. If soldiers don't respect you, they can't follow you."

"You want to run S.H.I.E.L.D. someday?" Tony asked. He doubted that's what Steve meant, but he couldn't resist picking at it.

"What? No!" Steve said emphatically, and Tony felt a small part of himself relax. Steve saw it, his voice softening again. "Tony, no. Of course not. But it's the principle of the thing. If word got around that we were found together watching some... chick flick-"

"Oh, _together_? So it's not just about the movie," Tony interrupted, and he watched Steve's brows drop, jaw working on a silent response. The words had left his mouth quickly, faster than they should've. He knew Steve hadn't meant that, but now that it was out, he was feeling antagonistic.

"That's not what I-" Steve attempted, looking lost. The screen only lit up half his face, which was turned in Tony's direction.

"So you just threw that in, what, for kicks? Come on, Steve, really?"

"No, I meant-" he tried again, and now, his entire body was turning, as if focusing his entire attention on Tony could force understanding. Tony turned away, shaking his head in melodramatic disappointment.

"Ever heard of a Freudian slip, Cap? Just because you didn't mean to say it aloud doesn't mean you aren't ashamed-"

Tony felt the front of his shirt constrict, and realized after a split second that it was Steve's fist, yanking him back to face him. He'd forgotten that, even though Steve wasn't quite as quick with his comebacks, his response time definitely wasn't lacking. That same half of Steve's face was lit up, and now, instead of looking lost, he looked dangerous.

"I'm not ashamed. You're my friend, Tony," he said darkly, and Tony sat for a moment, dumbfounded, not entirely sure what they were talking about anymore. He was so close. Just as close as he'd been the day before in the dark. If he leaned forward just a little... Tony's eyes dipped down, and he felt his chest constrict. He hadn't taken Pepper out to dinner yet. As caught up as he was in this experiment, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "Besides," Steve continued, releasing him, and Tony felt strangely light-headed as he settled back into his seat. "It would make it pretty difficult to keep my promise if I were."

"Hm?" Tony breathed, trying to jostle himself back into his usual level of clarity. "What promise is that?"

Steve snorted a laugh, turning back to face the movie, "Pepper wants me to babysit you on weekdays, I think."

Okay, he was awake now. His eyes narrowed skeptically. "Wanna run that by me again?"

"Yeah," Steve chuckled, plucking up another fistful of popcorn, relaxing now that the moment had passed. "You know how I said before that she's not buying your bullshit?"

Vaguely. Tony's jaw clenched. Steve was pretty shitty at making him feel better. "Okay, yeah."

"So she basically asked that I make sure you don't kill yourself on her work days," Steve said, glancing over at him. Tony could swear he saw the same antagonistic glint in his eye that he'd been sporting earlier. In between the layers of irritation, he found himself amused.

"Just her work days, huh?" Tony asked.

"Yep."

"Sounds more like joint custody, to me," Tony offered, putting his feet on the back of the chair in front of him and rocking it back and forth. "I demand a trip to the zoo."

"Well, she said we could do whatever we want," Steve said, grabbing more popcorn.

Tony froze, the seat halting mid-swing.

"Did she?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Yep," Steve said, narrowing his eyes at something that was happening on-screen. Some of the dogs had started barking.

"Whatever we want?" Tony asked innocently. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, so I guess the zoo is on. Man, I haven't been to a zoo in... well, a long time. A really long time."

"Excuse me," Tony said, catapulting out of his seat. Steve shot him a confused look, dropping a couple pieces of popcorn into the depths of the seat dividers. "Bathroom. Sit tight."

He rushed down the hallway to the bathroom, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he went.


	22. Chapter 22

The bathroom was deserted, aside from a lone stander at the urinal, and Tony stared at the back of the man's head until he noticed and hurried out. Once he was completely certain he was alone, he dialed Pepper.

It rang once, twice, three times, and then flipped over to her voice mail. Well, her phone was definitely on. He called her five more times in quick succession before the line finally clicked.

" _Tony, I swear to God, you had better be on fire_ ," she hissed into his ear, and he grinned.

"Hello to you too, beautiful. Can we talk?"

"What? No! I'm right in the middle of an important-"

"Are you whoring me out to Steve?" Tony asked lightly. He'd run through maybe fifty different ways of asking, but he couldn't sit tight for another few hours if she decided to hang up on him. Brevity was best. There was a long pause, and muffled voices in the background as she presumably spoke to whoever was in the room with her. When she next spoke, her voice was louder. In the hallway, probably. So the meeting couldn't have been _that_ important.

"Why would you think that?" she asked, voice too stiff. "Did Steve-?"

"Steve thinks you gave us permission to go to the zoo," Tony said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," she said weakly, and the fact that she wasn't fighting back made him fidget.

"Pepper, tell me straight. Are you trying to pawn me off, here?" he paused for a moment, steeling himself to ask what he really wanted to know. "...Are we okay?"

"What? Yes! Yes, Tony! We're fine! God, okay... Let me... just..." There was more rustling, and a heavy thunk. So she'd shut her office door. That was a good thing, right? Or bad, if she was trying not to make a scene.

"Should I come over?" he asked, toeing the bathroom tile.

"I'm trying to have a _meeting_ , Tony," she sighed. "See, this is what I was trying to tell Steve. I thought that... Well, no. I should've been clearer. That was stupid of me, okay."

Tony made a rough noise of agreement.

"Hush. What I was trying to tell Steve was that, and I'm not trying to offend you here, Tony, but you're just a little... much... sometimes. And I love that about you!" she said quickly, as if she could feel him tensing up.

"Much?" he repeated, feeling a little offended.

"It's your best feature, Tony! You live life to the fullest! You push yourself fully wherever your focus lies. I just... can't follow you there all the time. Ever since you handed the company over to me, I've been struggling to keep my head above water. I can't worry about the company while I'm worrying about you every two seconds. So I thought, maybe if Steve could be there..."

"Wait, so you _did_ hire him to babysit me?!" Tony burst out, shaking his head. He leaned against the wall, biting his lip. He couldn't hang up on her. His fingers clenched around the phone. But... _What the hell?_ "Did you pay him? No wonder he's been such a fucking puppy dog."

"Christ, no! I'm not paying him! I didn't hire him for anything!" she retorted, and he could hear the heat in her voice as she became offended. Good. "Would you just listen to me for a second?"

"Listening," Tony said, but he could feel his blood pressure rising. He clenched his fist against the wall, and then flattened it, trying to calm himself.

"Okay, so I know it's a little weird, but the reason I told _Steve_ everything was because I wasn't sure if he'd be interested. And it needs to be his decision, Tony. I never thought you'd react like this, or I would've asked you first."

"Well, excuse me for reacting poorly to realizing that my friends are being cherry-picked for me. I thought I had some actual free will-"

"Stop! The reason I asked Steve is because he likes you, Tony! You can't pay someone to put up with that much of your crap. And besides, I thought you knew him better than that," Pepper fussed, and Tony couldn't help but feel like he was being scolded. It didn't improve his mood. "Stop reacting and think about it for a second."

"Okay, so what am I thinking about then, hm?" he asked sardonically, pushing away from the wall to sit on the counter. It wasn't completely dry, and the water sank into one of his pant legs.

"Well, how about the fact that Steve isn't like that? He's a good guy. He doesn't do things for the wrong reasons."

Tony kicked the air. She had a point. He kept his mouth shut.

"Your first guess was probably closest," she said more gently, feeling him back off.

"What, that you're whoring me off? So we went from you paying Steve to Steve paying you?" he pouted, but it lacked venom.

"Nobody's paying anybody," she assured him. "I was trying to tell him that if he wanted to... do anything... to keep you occupied on the days I was working, I would be okay with it."

Tony put his face in his hand, massaging some of the tenseness that had gathered in his forehead.

"You mean _anything_ anything, right?" he asked, feeling confused. "Weren't you the one who said, you know, no more one night stands? Help me out, here."

"It isn't a one night stand, is it? Steve's better than those germy cesspools you used to bring home. You guys have history," she paused, and he waited, feeling the seconds tick past. She sighed, relenting, "He can be there for you on a level I can't."

"I don't _need_ another level," Tony insisted, drawing shapes in the water on the counter.

"You do, Tony. And I can't keep struggling to reach it. It isn't good for me. Listen, I _want_ you guys to hit it off. I'm not going anywhere, but I need someone to take the pressure off."

Tony ground his teeth, trying to hear what she was saying, instead of what his anxieties were forcing in his ears. And, of course, attempting to face what he already knew. That she couldn't reach him, not right now. Because he needed to work. He needed to train. He couldn't bring himself to meet her halfway, and she was saying that she couldn't make the journey alone. At least, not on work days.

"What about weekends?" he asked cheekily.

"Weekends you're mine," she said sternly, and he smiled.

"I don't need to sleep with Steve to hang out with him," he countered, sliding back onto the floor and dusting some of the water from his pants.

"No, but it couldn't hurt," she replied, and he strained to hear the judgment in her voice. There didn't seem to be any.

"So... we're fine?" he asked again.

"Absolutely," she said, and he could practically hear the smile.

"Okay, see you tonight."

"No, you won't. I have a meeting in California. I'll be back in a couple of days. Don't have too much fun," she laughed, and Tony felt his chest swell. "And Tony, remember what I said. Steve's decision. I might not be there the next time you scare him off."

The line clicked dead, and Tony, dumbfounded and filled with warmth, returned the phone to his pocket. He made his way out of the restroom just as someone pushed hurriedly through the door. Perfect timing. Perfect everything, really.

Pepper Potts.

He really loved that woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heading off for the weekend again! I'll see you guys on Monday :D


	23. Chapter 23

Steve looked up as Tony slid back into the seat next to him, a faraway look in his eyes.

"I was beginning to wonder if you fell in," Steve whispered, adjusting himself so that their arms didn't press quite so firmly against each other. But he was a big guy, and Tony wasn't tiny, so it was impossible to completely separate them. Steve had tried to ignore it since the moment they'd first sat down together.

"Hm? Ah, no," Tony replied vaguely, with his attention still focused elsewhere, and the hair on the back of Steve's neck prickled in warning. Maybe bathrooms were a trigger for him? He'd lost himself the other night in that bar's facilities, and Steve was still oversensitive to his mood shifts. He opened his mouth to investigate, but Tony beat him to it, eyes sharpening and swiveling in his direction. Mood shift. "So, the zoo, huh? When's that happening?"

It took him a moment to figure out what Tony was talking about, but when he did, he smiled. Tony was just a big kid at times. ...A lot of times. At this particular moment, it was endearing.

"We could go on our next 'escape from S.H.I.E.L.D.' field trip," Steve offered, pushing down the pleasure he got from dodging the agency's vision. He'd almost forgotten what privacy felt like. Sitting here in the dark, with only a few other scattered people, he felt completely at ease. Even if, at any moment, S.H.I.E.L.D. could burst in, ruining their little pow-wow. He imagined it as something similar to how they'd swarmed the gym that day, although, on second thought, they'd probably be more secretive in public. In fact, they might have already found them. The idea made Steve's skin crawl.

"We could go now," Tony countered, his eyes glinting with reflected light.

"I didn't bring any money," Steve said, shaking his head, and Tony rolled his eyes melodramatically, throwing up his hands.

"Oh, if only there were someone here who could afford to pay _both_ of our ways!" he whispered a little too loudly, and one of the couples glanced in their direction.

"Shhh," Steve hushed, and then, leaning in and lowering his voice. "You aren't paying my way, Tony. You already sneaked the movie ticket by me."

"Don't worry," Tony purred in his ear. "It isn't free. I'm keeping tabs."

Steve resisted the urge to pull back, his skin buzzing. See? He could do this. Not be _phobic_. Tony couldn't (or wouldn't) change the way he acted, so Steve would just have to change the way he reacted. This was definitely progress. He swallowed, clearing his mind.

"Fine, but I'm paying you back as soon as we get back to my place," Steve insisted, pulling back enough to see Tony's expression. He wanted to make sure his prideful words hit home, but when his eyes met Tony's, he froze. Even in the dark, Stark's expression was positively wicked, his lopsided grin pulled too tight, his eyes pressed into slits. Steve glanced away self-consciously, and then looked back. He had to be unafraid. "What?" he asked, perhaps a little too accusatorily, and Tony shook his head, looking back to the movie, but he still had that grin plastered across his face.

"You just make it too easy, is all," he said, popping the last few kernels of popcorn into his mouth, and Steve watched him, confused.

"I make what too easy?" he asked, bristling. He couldn't even tell if he was being made fun of, although that was his best guess at the moment.

Before he could answer, the theater began thrumming with slow, pulsating music, and the woman on the screen, who Steve and Tony had been ignoring completely, began getting rather friendly with the dog-saving hero. Steve's brows shot down in disgust as the man pulled her shirt over her head, showing not only her bra, but a tentative glimpse of what lay beneath. He felt his face heating up, and he looked away, ashamed. He was now more than ever aware that S.H.I.E.L.D. could be watching. What if, right now, they were on some giant screen, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents gathered 'round, judging their behavior? And many of those agents were women!

Tony caught his arm as he made to get up, and Steve glared down at him.

"You're leaving? It just got to the good stuff!" Tony said, and he sounded honestly surprised, eyes drifting back and forth between Steve and the screen as he popped more popcorn into his mouth.

"You didn't tell me this was a pornographic movie!" Steve hissed, but he didn't pull his arm away. It was mid-day! No wonder the theater was practically empty!

"What?" Tony asked, and now he had his full attention. How could he be so surprised? Was this a habit of his? Maybe next, they'd head off to a burlesque show? Is that what Tony thought he meant by the _zoo_? Steve felt disgusted. "Steve, wait. Calm down, it's soft core. It'll be over in- there. See?" He gestured at the screen, which had moved on to a scene with the couple laying in bed together, the sun seeping in through the windows. Not. Better. Steve looked quickly away. "They didn't even show anything, man."

Steve shook his head, unable to comprehend. He knew Tony was a lecher, but Stark knew their precarious position. Did he really just not care what others thought of him?

"Okay, fine! The good part's over anyway. It's always downhill from here," he relented, releasing Steve's arm and crumpling up the popcorn bag as he rose to his feet. They made their way down the rows of seats toward the door. "I don't see what you're getting all worked up about. It's not like you haven't seen it all-" They shoved out into the lighted hallway, and Tony's eyebrows lifted higher, "-before." There was a long, awkward pause, and Steve cleared his throat, trying to force the neon red blush out of his skin. It didn't work. "Wow, okay. So, not judging. But you have... I mean..." Tony said haltingly, and Steve turned away, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn't tell if he was more embarrassed or offended. "I mean, not even on-?"

"Shut up, Tony," he bit out, making his way out of the theater. It was a little difficult to march out with any dignity when your face glowed, though. Luckily, it seemed like nobody else was out roaming the hallway.

"I guess that's how it was back then," Tony continued, but Steve could hear the astonishment in his voice. "But jeeze, I can't believe-"

"Why can you not believe?" Steve finally snapped, turning back to face him so quickly that Tony bumped into him. Steve felt a small surge of guilty pleasure that Tony looked momentarily surprised, if not rattled.

"I mean, look at you," he said, gesturing at him.

"So because I look like this, I should've slept with someone already?" he asked, and Tony's face pinched.

"Is this a trick question? Because-"

"And when you used to sleep around, that's all you looked at?"

"Not always," Tony said defensively, his expression drawn. "Hey, how did we get from-?"

"I'm not _like_ you, Tony. I'm not going to sleep with the first pair of pretty legs who walks past, and I'm not going to watch pornography in the middle of the day!" He had to force his voice to stay quiet, his embarrassment and offense combining to form an explosive mixture.

Tony stared at him a while, and Steve could see that he'd managed to offend his friend, as well. He took a deep breath, feeling the explosive emotions already starting to slip out of him, now that he'd spoken his mind.

"Okay, first off," Tony said, his voice quiet and too calm, "that wasn't a porno. That was a chick flick with a sex scene. Almost all movies have at least one nowadays, and you aren't going to get one softer than that." Steve opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again, shaking his head. That was impossible. All movies couldn't be pornography. ...Could they? "Second," Tony said slower, and Steve could see the fire working its way beneath the surface of his eyes. "I don't think there's anything wrong with what I did. We were all consenting adults, and I'm pretty sure everyone had a damned good time."

"I didn't mean there was anything wrong-" Steve attempted to clarify, already feeling the desire to smooth this over.

"But you are right," Tony interrupted, and Steve's jaw hung slightly open, mid-word.

"I am?" he asked, running back over the conversation.

"You aren't like me. Not like I used to be," Tony said, and Steve swallowed, wondering if he'd accidentally opened up that rift between them again. Was this how their friendship was always going to be? One step forward, two steps back?

He froze as Tony took a literal step forward, right into his personal bubble, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You're looking for someone special, and that's admirable." He straightened Steve's collar, eyes pinned on his own hand before flicking up to meet Steve's unblinking stare. He felt the flush, which had begun to recede, creep mysteriously back up his neck again. "Just keep your eyes open, okay?"

Tony stepped back suddenly, pulling his phone from his pocket and turning away. Steve took a deep breath, blinking. What... what the hell was that all about? _Keep your eyes open?_ Was that Tony's way of giving him relationship advice? Steve tugged harshly at his collar, as if that were the cause of his confusion and discomfort. It felt way too tight.

"Looks like the party's over. They found us," Tony said somberly, putting his phone back in his pocket.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Steve asked, eagerly grabbing onto this new, safely familiar topic. "They text... thinged... you?"

"Nah, Jarvis intercepted a call and text... thinged... me. Too bad. I guess we'll have to take a rain check on the other thing, hm?"

"Yeah..." Steve trailed off, wondering what the zoo had to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance. Well, he supposed it was intelligent to have a destination in mind when they were skipping out.

"My place tomorrow?" Tony asked as they headed back to the car. He politely opened Steve's door first and held it open, shutting it behind him as Steve crawled in. Steve wondered if it was his way of making nice.

"Sure," Steve agreed as Tony slipped in next to him, and felt a surge of warmth fill his chest as he settled back into the car seat. It was short-lived, however, and soon he was digging his fingers back into the door handle, resisting the urge to flee the vehicle as Tony sped back to his apartment.


	24. Chapter 24

Steve sat up in a rush, sweat beading on his lip and plastering his shirt to his back. His sheets were knotted artfully around his waist, pulled from where they'd been tucked at the end of the bed, and the covers had been pushed off altogether. He blinked in the early morning light, scanning his room in confusion as the dream drifted away, leaving him with only bits and pieces and the heated thrumming of his body.

He could remember warm breaths coasting across his mouth, whispering in a voice that definitely wasn't Peggy Carter's, although now he couldn't seem to place it. From what he could remember, they never touched: a face hovering always inches from his.

Apparently, that didn't stop his body from reacting. He sat as still as possible, keenly aware of his surveillance, which Tony had been kind enough to point out the locations of. If he sat like this, unmoving, the sheets pooled around his middle, then he stood the best possible chance of no cameras catching a glimpse of his... perfectly natural and healthy reaction. A reaction he still didn't want floating around the military.

How much longer could he do this? He adjusted himself, trying to get one leg out from under the sheets, and clenched his jaw when the slight friction teased gently across his skin. How could he sleep here, knowing that, at any given moment, a good several people could be watching? Playing hooky with Tony had been fun, but it hadn't actually achieved anything, other than reminding Steve just how much he felt like an ant under a microscope. Maybe he could move... Get his own place. Convince Tony to check it for bugs on a regular basis.

He swallowed, his brain sparking with shattered memories from his dream. In his mind's ear, low tones murmured sweet nothings that went straight to his groin. Low... Why _those_ tones? He wasn't... He'd never even looked at another... Not that way... He pulled at his collar, feeling choked, and then willfully swung both feet out onto the ground, gritting his teeth as he made his way into the bathroom. According to Tony, there weren't any video feeds in there, only auditory. So as long as he didn't make any noise, he'd be fine. He pulled off the sheets, which were now tangled around his feet, and then peeled off his damp shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, skin flushed, pupils blown wide, hair shooting every direction but flat. He combed his fingers through it, and his hair immediately fell into line. 

Unable to put it off any longer, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, creeping them gently down and off, and then stepped into the shower without another glance in the mirror. He turned the water ice cold, forcing his body into shivering submission, and by the time he stepped out, he felt refreshed.

His phone buzzed, and he dug around for it, finally finding it buried inside his pants pocket from a couple of days before.

 _Ready when you are_ , said the text, and Steve shook his head. He somehow doubted that Tony had woken up this early.

"Did you even sleep?" he murmured to his phone, before tossing it onto the bed and pulling on some clothes. He was far from embarrassed about his body, now that that... issue... had been taken care of.

 

\----------------------

 

Tony's door opened for him automatically, as per what was becoming usual, and he stepped into the house with only a smidgen of guilt at entering unannounced.

"Hey, Jarvis," he said loudly, straining his ears to find Tony. The house was quiet. No renegade suits tearing the lab apart.

"Welcome back, Steve, sir. It seems Mr. Stark left the basement door unlocked for you," Jarvis supplied helpfully, and Steve could've sworn he heard a tiny amount of fascination in the computer's tone.

"How polite," Steve snorted, wondering if anyone in this house ever actually met their guests at the door.

"Indeed," Jarvis agreed, but he didn't sound sarcastic.

That door opened automatically, too, and Steve made his way down the stairs.

"Knock knock," he announced as he emerged into Tony's lab, and immediately felt his eyes bug. Not only was the place not trashed, but it was positively glistening. If Steve hadn't been present during the initial destruction phase, he would've denied it ever occurring.

"You like?" Tony asked, all smiles, emerging from behind one of the tables. His face and arms were smeared with what looked like oil, and... was that a burn across his shoulder? Tony looked down to where Steve was staring, and then hurriedly waved him off. "Technical difficulties. All sorted out. Now, this baby," he patted the contraption sitting on top of the table in front of him, "is going to win me our next fight."

Steve ran his fingers absently over his leg. It was healed on the surface, but he could still feel it below, dully aching.

"In a week or so, I mean," Tony said quickly, reading his mind. "This place looks good on the surface, but it's nowhere near working condition. But-" Tony slid across the table, making his way jauntily toward him, and Steve could see the red webs crawling across the whites of his eyes. Definitely hadn't slept. "-I did manage to make enough progress to show you this."

He got closer, crossing the line into Steve's personal space, and he felt himself tense, unable or unwilling to back away. Their chests were practically touching, and Tony's look had grown wicked again, his eyes sparkling. He reached out, his hand brushing Steve's arm... and reached past him to press a lighted pad on the wall. Where Steve thought had been a wall behind him, a panel shot into the ground, and Steve could see red and gold reflecting in Tony's eyes. It was like looking at a second Tony. Or maybe just the second half of Tony.

Steve turned to look at the suit, and Tony put a hand on his shoulder, leaning into him.

"You fixed it?" he asked, trying to recall the sounds of wreckage from earlier that week, but instead, coming up with purred nothings from his dream. Tony's hand felt heavy on his shoulder.

"Sure did," Tony said proudly, coasting around him and letting his hand slide down Steve's arm, making the hairs there stand up. "I was thinking, obviously it's good practice for you fighting my robots, and it's certainly good data for me, but don't you think it would be better if, sometimes, not every time, if-"

"You want to spar?" Steve interrupted, his mind jumping ahead of Tony's surprisingly long-winded request. Tony looked back at him, his tired eyes greedy. Did Stark think he was going to have to convince him? Steve smiled broadly, feeling a wave of excitement course through him. It was one thing to fight a robot, which learned your moves, gauged your strength, and came up with computerized reasoning behind its next attack. It was entirely different to fight a man who could do all of that in a split second and so, so much more. "That would be great."

"Cool," Tony said flippantly, but Steve could see the hunger there. It was the same tug he felt. In fact, since Tony wasn't a robot...

"You know, if you go easy on me-" Steve started, against his better judgement. His leg ached in warning, but he ignored it.

"Okay," Tony interrupted a little too quickly, his fingers already flying across the key pad that released his suit. Steve ran his tongue across his lips, the muscles in his stomach bunching. It scared him how much he was becoming drawn to really, really bad ideas.


	25. Chapter 25

Deja vu.

Steve standing at one end, a look of calm concentration etched into his features. Except this time, those features were turned critically in his direction, not toward one of his inventions. Tony's blood pounded in his ears. He'd definitely expected to have to convince Steve that this was a good idea, and even after accomplishing that, thought that maybe, _maybe_ the actual sparring would occur in the next few weeks. A small voice in the back of his head was telling him that this wasn't an incredibly good idea, and that maybe Steve had jumped on this bandwagon too quickly. But he wasn't one to listen to that voice. Not very often, anyway.

"He doesn't seem to be favoring his other leg," Jarvis supplied helpfully, as if reading his mind.

"Thanks, buddy," Tony said, but he still planned to avoid any running, jumping, and throwing that would put too much strain on that wound.

Steve clutched a surrogate shield in one arm, because if they were going to fight, then he needed to be properly equipped. It wasn't exactly Adamantium/Vibranium, but it would do the trick for now. Tony wondered where Steve had hidden the real one. Maybe next time, when he was all healed up, they could have a proper battle...

"You ready?" Steve called, ever the gentleman. Tony was poised to just fly at him, and momentarily recalled that his robotic suit had made a similar strategical decision. Probably good to avoid doing whatever had gotten his AI ripped into tiny pieces. Steve didn't have any projectiles, other than the shield, so it stood to reason that, if this were a real fight, he should attack from a distance. Play up that weakness. Maybe he would, when Steve had his real shield. This time, he'd just avoid getting fingers torn off.

"Ready," Tony said, nodding, and barely had time to dodge as the surrogate shield, the one he thought wouldn't work very well, came rocketing at his head. He ducked down, heard a loud _clang_ behind him, and jumped into the air just as the shield ricocheted underneath him, back into a rapidly approaching Steve's outstretched hand. So much for avoiding running. Tony shot a couple of flares into Steve's face to slow him down. They scarred the shield black as it came up to protect him, but did little by way of halting his approach. He wondered briefly if Steve had ever considered playing football. He could make a killing.

And then Steve was on him. Tony sideswept him, using his momentum to throw him into the side of the house. The concrete splintered, cracking upward a good ten feet, and Tony made a mental note _not_ to destroy his own home. Except that Steve was getting up, and the opportunity was presenting itself... Tony flew forward, driving his foot into Steve's gut, and the house groaned as the crack traveled further. Water started leaking out, dripping down onto the pavement beneath them. Steve's fingers wrapped around Tony's leg before he could retract it, and he found himself buried arm-deep in the wall beside Steve. Another pipe broke, and the water rained down around them, soaking them both.

"Away from the house, please," he announced, tearing loose with his jets and flinging Steve to the other side of the concrete clearing. Steve landed in a graceful crouch, and Tony did a mental check that no, nothing was bleeding. In fact, absolutely nothing seemed injured, aside from his house and the scuff marks on his suit. Steve was still in perfect condition. Even his hair, albeit wet, was perfect. "Remind me to ask what hair gel you use," he said, hovering a few feet above the ground, and then sent another two harmless projectiles rocketing toward Steve.

"I don't use gel," Steve said, knocking them away. He threw his shield again, too close, and Tony rocketed back and up several feet as he caught it. His hands sparked around the metal, and he could feel his palms heating up exponentially as the seconds ticked by.

"Gloves damaged 70%," reported Jarvis, readouts flitting rapidly across the screen. "There seem to be deep tears in both palms."

"Got it," Tony said quickly, tucking the shield under one arm and pulling off the suit's gloves. They fell to the ground, clattering loudly beneath him, and he looked down to see red marks rising on his skin. If he'd waited any longer, those would've been some pretty inconvenient burns. So he wouldn't be catching the Cap's real shield anytime soon. Good to know. He looked down at Steve, waving the shield in the air. "Does this mean I win?"

Steve bent down, picked up one of the gloves, and waved it above his head. "You tell me."

Tony snorted a laugh. He still had plenty of ammo, not to mention perfectly functioning blasters. But as far as sparring went, he couldn't exactly afford to get up close and personal if he didn't have any protection for his hands. He landed, tossing the makeshift shield to Steve, who caught it easily.

"That was quick," Steve said, and Tony wasn't sure he could look more disappointed if he tried. He looked like a wet puppydog. In a white shirt. Tony smiled, pulling off his mask.

"Yeah, well," he said, patting Steve on the back as they made their way inside. "Next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, I was gonna have this chapter filled with sweaty men grappling in close combat... Not sure what happened :I *shakes fist*


	26. Chapter 26

Steve followed Tony back inside, feeling a little cheated. He hadn't expected the fight to be their best, but he thought it would last just a little while longer. He leaned against a table as the adrenalin began to subside, and immediately felt a deep ache thrumming in his leg. In the span of, what, five minutes? Even during that insignificant amount of time, he'd been slammed, kicked, and thrown a good twenty feet. He couldn't wait to see what their fights would be like when Tony wasn't going easy on him.

A sharp metallic sound drew his attention, and he watched as mechanical arms reached out of the floor, picking apart Tony's outer shell as he made his way toward one of the consoles. They were smoothly in sync with his movements, despite the fact that Tony seemed completely oblivious to them, his attention focused on whatever task he'd lined up next. Steve watched, fascinated, as he transformed from metal to flesh in a matter of perfectly-synchronized moments.

_Take the suit away, and what are you?_

He saw now. You couldn't take the suit away. This was all an extension of Tony himself. Moving pieces of his mind, made reality.

Tony leaned over the console, tapping and dragging around lit-up boxes. Steve peered over his shoulder at a distance, and then immediately looked away, shaking his head. Why did technology always deal in gibberish?

"Apparently you lightly tossed this," Tony finally said, throwing the shield onto Steve's table with a rattling _clang_ , "at over 180 miles per hour."

"Is that good?" Steve asked, not really sure how that information was important.

"Scratch football. I'm thinking baseball. I'll sponsor a team," Tony rattled off, and then paused, ghosting his hand through the air as if reading off a headline. "Unknown Pitcher Permanently Breaks World Record."

"Ha. Ha," Steve said sarcastically, crossing his arms.

"Maybe you're right," Tony sighed, giving a quick shake of his head, and then proceeded to "read off," "Unknown Pitcher Takes Off Umpire's Hand. Cripples Couple Sitting In Front Row." He let his hand fall, looking defeated. "Yeah, that doesn't quite have the same ring to it."

"Not quite," Steve agreed, but he felt the corner of his mouth turning upward. Which was horrible. That was a terrible scenario. He quickly muscled his face back into place, but not before Tony saw it, pointing and shaking his finger in mock disapproval. Was there anything the man _didn't_ notice?

"I'm thinking," Tony said suddenly, no segue, clapping his hands together and taking a quick step toward him. Steve pushed away from the table, shocked into attention, and Tony smiled at him. "At ease, soldier." Steve frowned, leaning back into the table. "I'm thinking," he started again, his voice softer, "that maybe next time, once you're healed up, you should bring your shield toy for us to play with."

Steve frowned further, "I don't know if that's smart, Tony. I saw the cuts in your gloves. That shield was made out of... what... Titanium? Steel? And I didn't even throw it very hard."

Tony's eyes lit up brighter, and Steve's jaw tightened. Of course Tony found that exciting. Stupid.

"Yes, well, I probably won't try to catch your shiny one, will I," Tony offered, leaning one hand beside him on the table. Steve could feel the heat radiating off him. In the corner of his eye, even through the black wife beater, he could see the light shining off his mystifying chest piece. The man simply didn't have a personal space bubble. "Come on, Steve," he said, voice low, and Steve looked away, toward the door, pretending to be thinking so that he didn't have to look _right_ in his friends dark, puppydog eyes. "Steeeve."

Steve closed his eyes, sighing. Really? He knew it was a ploy to manipulate his emotions. He knew Tony knew he knew it, damn it. But what was really frustrating was that, despite knowing it, despite knowing Tony knew it, it still _worked_.

"Please?" Tony purred, and Steve's chest tightened with... what? Pity? A sewer rat was more deserving of his pity right now.

"Fine!" he burst out, eyes snapping open as he tried to sort out the mix-mash of emotions bubbling up in his chest. He couldn't do that if Tony was still staring at him. Even with his eyes closed, he could practically feel Stark watching him, soaking up every subtle nuance. Knowing exactly what he needed to do or say to sway the situation. And all for Steve's shield? "Fine, I'll bring it, jeeze. Just stop... doing that."

"Doing what?" Tony asked, his voice popping back to normal as he stepped away, looking sideways at him, and Steve clenched his teeth. "I'm definitely going to set up some physical boundaries next time, though. It looks like we took out half the plumbing in those three seconds. Pepper won't be back for a while, but I'm thinking she might want to come home to a working toilet."

Steve looked over his shoulder out the window, confused. He'd realized he was wet, and that the room was a little chilly because of it, but he hadn't actually paid attention as to why. Sure enough, water was cascading down the side of the building.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," he said quickly, grimacing.

"Don't worry about it," Tony said, half to himself, and Steve turned back in time to see his eyes jerking up too quickly to meet his, a look of benign innocence on his face. Steve shook it off, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the raining outer wall.

"You know, I might be able to fix that," he said. "Can you turn the water off?"

"Jarvis?"

"Of course, sir," said the warm, ever-present voice. It reminded Steve that, even here, he wasn't entirely entitled to his privacy. There was always someone watching. It did have its perks, though, as the torrent immediately became a trickle.

"You couldn't have done that sooner?" Steve asked, wondering how much water had leaked between the walls. He could at least patch up the pipes, if nothing else. You didn't grow up poor in the 20's without some basic handyman skills.

"It's off now," Tony offered, watching him carefully, his forced innocence gaze from before turning into something a little more openly intent. Steve fidgeted a bit, realizing too late that that was Tony's _studying_ face. He must've done, or was doing, something Tony found interesting. No pressure. "What do you need?"


	27. Chapter 27

Tony watched in fascination as Steve pulled concrete apart, hammered, and foamed (the Captain was very interested in the stuff) the pipes back together. Steve was obviously intelligent and resourceful, that much had already been made clear, but he hadn't expected the man to be so, well, _good with his hands_. He'd always respected people with trade skills.

Tony, for his part, half attempted to act busy, but fixing pipes wasn't his forte. If the pipes had been completely automated, mechanical works of robotic art, then maybe he could've kept his eyes on them, and off of Steve's damp, pant-clinging backside, for more than two seconds. Luckily, Steve was so caught up in his task that he didn't once look over his shoulder, and in fact, hardly acknowledged Tony's presence at all, except to ask for this tool or for him to hold that pipe. They worked their way up the wall, uncovering problems as they went, and soon an entire spiderweb of foam-sealed pipes had been unveiled.

Steve stepped back, throwing another empty can off to the side and dusting his hands off on his equally dusty pants. Tony could see his thighs working through the fabric, and dragged his eyes across them, biting his lip. Pepper's words echoed in his head for the hundredth time that day.

_It has to be Steve's decision._

Of course it did. He wasn't stupid. It wasn't like he could force the guy, even if he were the type. But she already knew that. She meant that Steve had to come to him, right? That he couldn't be the pursuer. Pepper was a smart woman, and he highly respected her opinion, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to follow that advice. In the course of a few hours, he'd already slipped up twice. His eyes followed the curve of Steve's thigh, up to where his legs met in joint harmony. He probably wouldn't get another opportunity to indulge like this. Not until Steve got into another wrestling match with one of his robots, and that could be a while.

"That'll need to dry before they patch the wall up," Steve said, finally glancing away from his handiwork. Tony's eyes snapped up to meet his, and he smiled innocently, wondering for the second time that day if he'd been caught. Wondering if he wanted to be caught. Steve, as he did the first time, either failed to notice or pretended not to, walking over to stand beside him. Tony handed him one of the beers he'd brought down earlier, and Steve took it, popping off the cap with his bare hand. Not to impress anyone. He just did it, like everything else remarkable that he did. Effortlessly.

Tony took a deep, calming breath, turning his eyes to the wall and taking a swig from his own bottle.

"A day, maybe two," Steve continued. "You said you were going to make a barrier or something for next time?"

"Yeah, or something," Tony said vaguely, already picturing the improvements. Honestly, he wanted access to a larger area than this. Perhaps, if he dug down a ways, beneath the house...

"Sounds ominous," Steve said, sipping on the beer that would do absolutely nothing to compromise his senses. Not that Tony would take advantage of a drunk man, of course. But people could make a lot of progress when their defenses were down.

Tony grinned, his mind flipping over to what could potentially be an ominous improvement to keep them off the walls. An electric fence? Spikes? Sharks?

"Definitely needs sharks," Tony nodded, and Steve raised an eyebrow.

"A little archaic, don't you think?" he asked. "Besides, I've never tangled with a shark, but..." He shrugged, and Tony grinned, eyes flicking across his biceps. That was an episode of Animal Planet he'd pay to watch.

"Yeah, well, you haven't seen those mutant sharks," Tony said impishly, turning to head back inside.

"Mutant sharks?" Steve's voice followed him, pitched higher with curiosity. Way too easy.

"Yeah, you know. The spliced ones," Tony explained, facing him again and walking backwards toward the house.

"Splicing?" Steve asked, his face scrunched up with confusion. It definitely wasn't his worst look. Tony licked his lips.

"It's when you take two different creatures and make a new thing that combines the two," he explained flippantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "For instance, putting wings on a pig."

"Pigs fly?" Steve asked incredulously, shaking his head, but Tony could see the question in his eyes. A part of him believed, or wanted to believe. It almost made Tony feel a little guilty. Almost. "Tony..."

"They don't really fly yet, they just sorta flop around," Tony said, pausing to wait for Steve to catch up. "But it's getting there. They've gotten pretty far with the other stuff, like mixing sharks and octopi. They call it a Sharktopus."

"Sharktopus, really?" Steve asked, and they walked together through the door.

"Yep, Sharktopus. Jarvis, bring up the... uh... news reports on the Sharktopus. Front and center."

"News reports, Mr. Stark?" Jarvis asked, and Tony wished there were a physical part of him that he could kick. Something that would hurt.

"Yeah, you know," he said smoothly. "That footage. About the one that got loose? You know..."

"Ah, of course. My apologies," Jarvis said, but Tony could hear the disapproval in his voice. He glanced over at Steve, who was watching him closely. A holographic screen popped up in the middle of the room and began playing clips from the movie. They were badly edited, jumping from one scene to the next, and Tony got the distinct feeling that Jarvis wasn't putting his whole effort into playing along. He'd have to work on making the AI more playful in the future.

Despite this, however, Steve had leaned in, and was watching the screen with an expression of awe and... was that disgust? Yes! Tony did a mental fist pump, putting his hand on Steve's shoulder and leaning in close.

"It was tragic. At least twenty people died. Co-eds just trying to enjoy their spring vacation," he sighed melodramatically, noting the way that Steve _didn't_ note his proximity this time. There was definitely something to be said about people letting their guards down, and he didn't even need alcohol to do it.

"That's terrible," Steve whispered, shaking his head. "Who let this happen?"

The clips switched suddenly to another scene, with one of the main female characters, scantily clad, going through dialogue with a male character. If memory served, they were about to do the dirty and then get eaten. Tony coughed, making the "kill it" sign where he knew Jarvis could see him, but the scene kept playing. The couple on the screen got closer, and he felt Steve tense under him. Fantastic.

"Tony, what-?"

"Jarvis!" Tony snapped, pulling away, and the screen died.

"My apologies, sir," Jarvis said, not sounding very sorry at all. "As I recall, that was your favorite part. I thought you might want to-"

" _Favorite part?_ " Steve interrupted venomously.

"Jarvis. Man," Tony opened his arms to the camera. "You're killing me."

"Tony, was that... was that a movie?!" Steve asked, grabbing his shirt and spinning him around. "Not funny!"

If Tony had been about to defend himself, or disagree, or do anything, the words died in his throat. Steve looked angry, sure, and a little hurt, and that probably wasn't good. But what stopped Tony's tongue was the fist was buried in the front of his shirt, just like Steve had done at the movies, and that he'd pulled Tony _so close_ again, forget that it was out of anger. If there had been a wall behind him, and maybe if Steve closed that gap, and those Superman thighs could settle just there...

Tony swallowed, trying to will his brain back into verbal mode. Say something witty. Don't pursue him. Don't touch him. Don't, for God's sake, kiss him, even though he was _so close_ and if he just leaned forward just a little bit then maybe... His eyes drifted down to Steve's lips. It would be so easy.

"Sorry," he heard himself say, and it sounded like someone else was saying it.

Steve's grip tightened, and then weakened, his lips parting loosely in an expression that didn't translate to anger, or frustration, or even disappointment. And when Tony's gaze broke away to look intently back into his eyes, the rational part of his brain needing to complete that picture, he found dilated pupils. The whites of eyes. Eyebrows just a shade higher. Understanding. Surprise. Shock.

Oops.

Steve broke away, taking a step back, and looked off to the side, eyes wide. His gaze darted this way and that across the floor, searching for nothing. Tony could see the blood rushing up his neck, dying his ears red, and he couldn't resist just one more sweep of his eyes, tight shirt (now painfully dry), dirty pants, and a posture that folded in on itself. Right now, Captain America wanted to be small.

Tony opened his mouth to say something. To justify. To apologize. To excuse. But Steve beat him to it.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Tony's mouth hung open.

"Excuse me?" he asked, shaking his brain awake.

"I didn't mean to... I wasn't trying to..." Steve fumbled, and then shut his mouth. Tony could see the tendons working as he clenched his jaw tight. Tony shook his head, fascinated. Steve took a deep, calming breath, and then began again, still looking at the floor. "I know where your interests lie. I didn't mean to... I know you're with Pepper, and I wouldn't have done anything to..." He trailed off again, so stupidly sweet and naive it was painful to watch. Tony felt his abdomen squeeze greedily.

"Anything to what?" Tony asked, unable to stop himself. He was going to Hell. Some dark, deep pit of Hell. "Anything to... lead me on?" Steve's eyes flicked to him fearfully, and then back away. His ears grew darker. Don't pursue. Tony took a step forward. "Because if I weren't with Pepper, what? You would've...?" He trailed off, his blood pounding in his veins.

Steve was shaking his head repeatedly, "I wouldn't have... I don't-" And he didn't look angry anymore, like it had been sucked right out of him. He just looked lost.

"Are you sure?" Tony asked gently, giving Steve enough eye contact for both of them. He couldn't pursue, but he could open the way. This wasn't cheating. It wasn't.

The seconds ticked by, and Steve didn't answer. He just kept shaking his head, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"Steve," Tony said comfortingly, reaching out and laying one hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's not the end of the world, buddy." Steve finally, finally looked at him, looking like someone had just killed his grandmother. Tony's chest squeezed.

"I like women..." Steve insisted beseechingly, as if Tony could fix it. "I always have. Just..."

"Just?" Tony encouraged.

"I had this weird dream," Steve murmured, looking down at the floor between them, and Tony honestly, not even lecherously, had to lean in closer just to hear him. Ahh, dreams. Windows into the soul. Tony's ears perked up. "I don't even know what it means. Probably nothing. I just... I don't know." He dragged a hand through his hair, breath rattling. "I don't know." He shook his head a couple more times, and then looked back up at Tony, smiling embarrassed again. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to unload on you. Like I said, it's nothing."

Tony felt choked by the urge to do something. He didn't know what, but this was definitely a decisive moment. He should act. Should tell Steve that it was okay. That nearly everyone was a little bisexual. That he was normal. Maybe hug him...

_Don't hug him, Tony._

No, okay. Definitely a bad idea. Because really, that wouldn't help, right? That would just freak him out. He was obviously having a sexuality crisis. Probably already on edge from all the weird mixed signals Tony kept giving him. Hugging was the last thing he needed. But he was standing there, and he needed something. Shit. Tony wasn't good at this shit. Hell, the last time he'd given an unscripted speech, he'd outed himself as Iron Man. He wasn't good with pep talks, or speeches, or words of encouragement. But he couldn't just leave it like this. Couldn't just drop his hand and let everything continue on its merry way. His fingers tightened, and Steve's embarrassed smile wavered painfully, searching his eyes for approval.

Out of ideas. Plan C.

Tony's hand moved up to Steve's neck, and he leaned forward, bridging that impossibly large gap, enough time for Steve's eyes to narrow in confusion and then widen in shock, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...*collapses*
> 
> Finally, jeeze. Those boys, I swear...
> 
> Disclaimer: I haven't actually seen Sharktopus, but I figured it was probably like every other B movie that involved sea monsters... Full of scantily-clad college girls running around a beach in bikinis. I apologize if this is incorrect v__v Maybe I'll actually go watch it now...


	28. Chapter 28

Three times. Three times, and all of them had been stolen. The first, some nameless girl with a pretty face and soft skin, resulting in some pretty bad collateral damage. The second, before the plane trip that tore him out of his century and carried him here. And now, here, equally unexpectedly... this one. He didn't know what to do with this one.

Steve's brain jittered between full-on rational mode and complete shutdown. When he'd grabbed Tony's collar earlier, that had been Steve's fault. That situation. He'd seen the look on Tony's face. The dreamy way his eyes ghosted down. Steve wasn't the most perceptive of men when it came to those sorts of signals (and really, he'd never had much reason to be), but he certainly saw it then. Right then, when his dream came roaring back to him, and the sweet, low murmur in his ear was Tony saying _sorry_ , and the mouth that hung just out of his reach was the one... well... just out of reach.

Except that, apparently, it wasn't just out of reach. It was very, very not out of reach. And although that gap between them had proved impossibly wide, from the time he saw Tony's eyes harden into some obscure decision to the moment he realized, just a little too late, what that decision was, it still wasn't wide enough for him to react. Definitely, apparently, within reach.

And he was older now. Wiser. More hardened by war and loss. He shouldn't be going weak at the knees, or losing feeling to the tingling electricity in his skin. His heart beat shouldn't be deafening, his vision narrowing until he closed his eyes against it altogether. No, this was a theft. A crime. A _bad idea_. He shouldn't be doing... this. Shouldn't be honed in on the way Tony's lips caught his, or the way his fingers gently carved their way through his hair into his entire consciousness, lighting up the nerve endings in his scalp like a fire cracker. Shouldn't be standing there (if he even was standing there... he felt like he was floating), letting this happen. Because...

Tony's lips glided sweetly across his, impossibly gentle and so, so soft.

Because...

_Since when could Tony be gentle?_

Because he shouldn't. There was a reason.

There was definitely a reason.

Steve made a noise that should've been protest, but it sounded strange and foreign to his ears. Tony certainly didn't interpret it properly, his other hand snaking up to join the first and pulling them closer together. Steve grabbed his waist (to push him away...?), and Tony made a rumbling sound in his throat that shot hot chills to the pit of his stomach. His fingers spazzed, clenching at the fabric of Tony's shirt.

His other stolen kisses had been quick. Chaste. He'd never gotten past the initial phase of lips on lips. Never done... Oh God, what was Tony doing...

Steve made another high sound as Tony worked his mouth open, tongue playing at his lips and sliding between his teeth. Steve felt an electric jolt when the tips of their tongues touched briefly, his own curious about the intruder, and then Tony's began stroking his. A low moan bubbled up in his throat, muffled by their mouths. Steve thought kisses were supposed to be sweet, and innocent, and... Shit. He didn't know what this was. This was... intimate. Dirty.

Tony pressed himself closer, their chests rubbing up against each other, and Steve snapped out of his stupor like a rubber band. He severed the kiss, jerking his face away. His vision spun, and his skin was on fire. He could feel Tony's chest heaving against his. Tony let his hands slide from Steve's hair, across his shoulders, down his chest, and then he cleared his throat, swallowing. Steve's skin burned a pathway where he'd touched it.

"Don't freak out, okay?" Tony said in a voice an octave too low, the tones rumbling through Steve's chest. He closed his eyes, releasing his iron grip on Tony's shirt, and stepped back. "Steve, just... don't freak out."

He didn't even know what to say. What he wanted to say. This was a mistake, definitely. Pepper... God, how could Tony... Steve shook his head, his thoughts a jumbled mess.

"I need to think," he said, opening his eyes and looking everywhere except Tony. He could still feel him everywhere, pressed into the memory of his skin, so it didn't really help.

"Of course," Tony agreed quickly, and Steve could see that his hands were subtly outstretched, reaching toward him. A subconscious gesture. Steve turned away, heading for the door, but he could feel Tony's eyes on him. And, even through all of the other emotions knocking around in his gut, he wasn't uncompassionate.

"Tony..." Steve paused at the door and glanced back over his shoulder. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. Tony stood, his bruised lips parted, his eyes so open and honestly anxious that Steve's breath hitched. But he needed to leave. It was the right thing to do. He steeled himself, offering the smallest smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Tony nodded slowly, and Steve could see the smallest bit of tension lift from his shoulders.

"Okay. Tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank all of you for reading thus far! I know this fic can get pretty rambling at times, since I'm just going with the flow, and I appreciate you all sticking with me. And an extra thanks for all the comments and kudos, which are loved and appreciated!
> 
> (Also, I finally changed that stupid summary into something not quite as stupid... Feel free to tell me if it sucks ;; )


	29. Chapter 29

The house was empty. So empty and so fucking quiet, Tony felt like bringing the walls down just to give his brain something to deal with. He tapped on the desk in front of him, and then tapped complicated rhythmic beats on the screen, and then played the drums across his entire workstation. And then, finally, told Jarvis to turn on something with heavy bass. Maybe if he turned it up loud enough, it could drown out the vibrations in his chest.

He couldn't afford to regret it. It was done. It didn't matter what stupid part of him thought that was a _good fucking idea_ because _really, brain_ this wasn't some floozy in a bar at a party who was going to wake up next to him at 10am and be escorted off the premises, never to be heard from again. Nope. This was Captain America. Golden boy. Perfect boy scout and fifth time winner of all helping-granny-across-the-street awards.

"Fuck!" Tony said aloud, kicking his chair over. For a second there, he really thought Steve had been going for it. He had been going for it, hadn't he? He hadn't even freaked out at the end and _why hadn't he freaked out at the end?_ He was one of the most awkward, sexually repressed men Tony had ever met. Tony had been ready for freaking out. He'd been prepared to steady Steve's nerves. To stroke his jaw or some shit and tell him everything was going to be okay. That erections were natural, and generally pretty useful.

So... what the hell was that? That calm, cool Steve? The mid-battle Steve, who was not only in charge of his own faculties, but of the entire situation around him? And of course, they couldn't both be calm and cool, no. No, he had to be the one who started quaking. Who couldn't come up with anything longer than single-syllabic responses. Even now, a day later, he felt like crawling out of his skin. He glanced at his phone, which had been lying still on the table since six that morning. Nothing.

He needed a drink.

As he began making his way up the stairs, his phone started vibrating, and he nearly tripped rushing back down to it.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, bringing it up to his ear as the heavy rock music died around him.

"Hey," Steve echoed, and Tony could hear him trying to make his voice lighter. It didn't work. "Are we still on for today?"

"Yeah, of course," Tony said flippantly, because it wasn't attractive if you sounded too eager.

"Okay, good. I'm about ten minutes away. See you in a few."

The line clicked dead, and Tony held the phone a few moments longer. Ten minutes.

Time for that drink.

* * *

Steve made his way up the pathway to the house. It felt so familiar now, the way the door opened to him. The genial greeting from the artificial butler, whom Steve had grown rather fond of, as he stepped through the front walkway. The way the house lay silent, fully insulated against all sounds (other than the really destructive ones). He felt a small bit of stress lift from his shoulders, which he was thankful for. He was going to need all the stress relief he could get, when this was over.

Because that... whatever that was. It couldn't happen again. He'd probably wake up compromised a hundred times during the coming year, but that was something he'd have to suffer through. God, that... moment... was going to be seared into his nerves for the rest of his adult life. He felt grateful that it had helped answer a previously unposed question for him: he was, in fact, okay with kissing guys.

Tony was leaning against the back of the couch, tapping his foot and ignoring the beer in his hand, when Steve walked into the room. It was the first time he could remember that Tony had ever met him at the door. Well, near it. His eyes snapped up immediately when Steve walked in, and he offered a forced smile that didn't quite reach the anxiety in his eyes. Steve could feel him searching his face, and knew he wasn't liking what he saw.

"Hey, Tony," Steve nodded, stopping a good five feet away and steeling himself.

"Okay, so before you say anything," Tony said quickly, pushing himself off the couch, although he didn't approach any closer, "I just wanted to say that yesterday wasn't exactly my most thought-out moment. I know I have a reputation for being impulsive, but I'm not usually quite _that_ impulsive... Well, okay, sometimes. But the point is, I probably wouldn't have done it like that. So... yeah." He took a deep, rattling breath, and Steve wasn't sure he'd blinked in that entire time.

Steve shifted from one foot to the other, not really sure what to say. He'd been rolling around speeches and statements and arguments in his head all night, and he still had no idea how to start. Tony's finger tapped against his bottle while he waited. And waited. Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

"If you just want to forget about it," Tony finally jumped in again, unable to wait any longer, "I'm cool with that. I'll even stop, you know, messing with you." He made a vague movement with his hand. "Probably. Okay, I'll try. I'm not perfect."

"Tony..." Steve said, shaking his head.

Tony took a few steps forward, his eyes darting wildly between Steve's, "Come on, weren't we making good progress for a while there? I told Pepper I was cool with this being a 'friendship only' thing, and I meant that. We could go back to sparring. You can't tell me that's not worth it. You can't want to punch around sand bags for the rest of your life."

Steve felt his chest ache, and he frowned, holding up his hand, "Tony, stop for a second, will you? I'm not leaving."

Tony frowned, looking confusedly at him. He still had that anxiety in his eyes, and Steve wondered for a moment if he didn't believe him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated, taking a step forward to prove his point, and he watched the frown lines begin to dissipate.

"Oh," Tony said, although he still looked confused. His finger tapped his beer, and he held the bottle out invitingly. "You want one?"

Steve grinned, "Sure."

They walked silently into the kitchen together, and Steve slid into one of the bar stools as Tony pulled out a bottle and tossed it over to him. Tony leaned on the other side of the counter, staring at his hands. The barrier made Steve feel more comfortable, although either of them could easily jump it. He felt his thoughts finally begin to settle into place.

Tony had some pretty massive anxiety issues, so Steve had to be very clear and kind, while still being firm. He was apologizing, in his way, and offering to forget everything, which was probably the best idea at the moment. Stark was probably the only person in existence who could go back to normal after an experience like that, which was a positive. And obviously, Tony valued their friendship more than he valued Steve's lab-created pecs, which was encouraging. He'd even...

Steve's brain seized to a stop.

He'd... told Pepper... what?

He'd told Pepper that he was okay with being "friends only" with Steve? Well, of course he had. But why had that conversation even occurred? Had Pepper suspected something? Steve licked his lips nervously.

"What are you going to tell Pepper?" he asked offhandedly, the condensation on his bottle pooling around his thumb. He wiped a wet circle across it. Of course, Tony had to tell Pepper. This couldn't be a secret, and he'd never ask for it to be. He'd probably never be able to look her in the eye again, but they definitely needed to do the right thing here.

"That you turned me down," Tony shrugged. "She'll be unbearable to be around, after this. She always is."

" _Always is?_ " Steve asked before he could stop himself, dumbfounded. Was this a common occurrence? Hadn't Tony just been telling him a couple days ago that his flings were a thing of the past? He felt bile creeping up his throat. How many people had Tony kissed like that recently? Slept with? Was he just a link in some adulterous chain? Pepper had told him that Tony was going back to his old ways. Maybe she was giving him a heads up?

"Yeah, you know," Tony said, looking a little surprised by his tone. "When she's right?"

Steve shook his head, his thoughts swimming. Had he completely lost the thread of their conversation?

"Oh..." Tony said, his voice breathy and urgent. "Steve, I may have... briefly forgotten to mention something the other night, between the incredibly hot make-out session-"

"Tony!" Steve interjected, throwing his hands up.

"-and now. Okay? Bear with me. So, you know how you thought Pepper was like... adopting me out to you or something?" Tony asked, and Steve's face scrunched. Nope, he had absolutely no idea what they were talking about anymore. "Okay, well, she wasn't asking if you wanted to adopt me. She was saying she was cool if we... you know..." Tony motioned between them, raising his eyebrows, and then leaned both hands back on the counter, watching him. Steve opened his mouth, thought better of it, and shut it again. "And she advised me to, well, _not do_ what I did yesterday, because it would chase you off. She said it needed to be your decision."

Tony was studying him again. Steve could feel his eyes on his face, but he felt like he was drowning in his own shattered thoughts. He rubbed his temple, training to gain more mental footing.

"Okay, wait. So... you're telling me... That when Pepper was saying I should babysit you-"

"Hey," Tony cut in, offended, but Steve held up his hand, and Tony fell silent.

"What she was really saying... is that we should..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "And then, she advised you not to... do what you did... but you did it anyway, and now she's going to be difficult to be around because she'll be _gloating?_ "

"Something like that," Tony grinned. "Welcome to the Stark household."

"But didn't you say you guys were like..." Steve meshed his fingers together.

"Monogamous? Yep. But she seems to think you're a good influence or something," Tony shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. He seemed to have gotten back plenty of his pomp in the past couple of minutes, just as Steve was slowly getting back that ambiguous urge to punch something.

"I'm a good influence, so she wants us to-?" Steve broke off, his face screwed up. "That is _so_ wrong."

"Really? I thought it was pretty cool," Tony smiled, and then immediately fell somber again. "Listen, Steve. This doesn't change anything. If you still wanna stay in the friend zone, we'll stay there."

Steve didn't know what he wanted. How could a loving couple even make a decision like that? And even if he started up... whatever it was... with Tony, where would it go? Where could it possibly go?

"Why? Why would you even consider...?" Steve asked, looking off to the side.

"Because it's fun?" Tony scoffed, and he was moving now, walking around the counter. Steve tensed. "Because we're all adults here? Because I like you?" He slid into the bar stool next to him, their thighs almost touching. Steve swallowed.

"But Pepper..."

"Is worn out by me. I'm a difficult person, Steve. She doesn't want to give me up, but she wants a break."

Well, that much Steve could understand. He rubbed his thumb across the bottle, thinking.

"I'm not interested in a purely physical relationship, Tony," he said firmly. He'd said it as a warning, but he could feel that tiny space between their thighs being breached. Could feel the fabric of Tony's jeans oh-so-slightly accosting the outer seam of his. His heart rate jumped at the contact.

"That's a shame, because I only like you for your ass," Tony said sarcastically, and Steve felt the edges of his mouth trying to turn up. It was wrong... wasn't it? He chewed his lip. Tony rested his leg against Steve's for a moment longer, and then pulled away, climbing to his feet. He pushed the stool in and leaned against the counter. "Just think about it, okay? No pressure. And if you don't want to, we won't. Friends only."

Steve nodded, looking down at the beer that would do nothing to dull this experience.

Tony waited a few seconds longer, and then disappeared, probably down into his rabbit hole. Escapist. Steve wondered what he could escape into.

His leg tingled, and his mouth, remembering, tingled. He took a deep breath.

He'd been waiting for the right partner since he knew girls were a separate entity. Waiting, because before the procedure, he knew it would take someone special to like him. And now that everyone seemed to accept him in some fashion, he was still waiting. For what?

No, what he should do now was walk out, find some nice girl to share a popcorn at the movies, and forget this ever happened.

He licked his lips.

_Because I like you?_

"Shit," Steve slammed his beer down on the counter, pushing away from the bar before he could second-guess himself. Because that was exactly what they needed right now, wasn't it? More impulsive decision-making. "Shit."


	30. Chapter 30

Tony slumped down into a chair, rocking it back as far as it would go without toppling over. He stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing. That hadn't gone as badly as it could've. Worst case, he'd still get to watch Steve wrestling with his robots, and that couldn't be counted as a loss in anyone's book.

Best case, though...

He sucked in a deep breath, going back over their conversation for the twentieth time in the past two minutes.

It was possible. He'd seen the possibility in Steve's posture. In the way he didn't immediately shut Tony down when he'd pressed their thighs together. He wasn't disgusted by the idea. So the only deciding factor now was how traditional Steve turned out to be. This type of relationship wasn't exactly something to write home about. Even if Steve had had a home.

Tony leaned forward, rubbing his temples with both thumbs as his brain auto-piloted the conversation back to the beginning, picking apart every intricate detail and laying it out for him to reconsider.

"Hey Jarvis, how about we crank up some AC/DC," Tony said, dragging his hands down his face. He needed to work. Get his mind off this. The decision was completely out of his hands, so what point was there in stressing about it?

"Sir, I think that might not be the wisest choice," Jarvis said, and Tony frowned. Wisest choice? "Perhaps I should put on something less... modern?"

"Since when do you have an opinion about my music?" he asked, pushing back from the table.

"AC/DC is fine," came a voice near the door. Thankfully, Jarvis knew better than to trust that statement. The room stayed quiet. Steve leaned against the door frame, and Tony wondered fleetingly how long he'd been standing there. It couldn't have been too long. Tony had only left him in the kitchen, what, ten minutes ago? Fifteen? That was fast. Really fast. He'd expected a day, at least. His stomach knotted.

Tony pushed himself out of the chair, and sat back against the table, facing the door.

"So," he said, trying to feel him out.

"So..." Steve echoed, pushing away from the door and meandering toward him. Tony's heart jumped into action, especially once Steve got close enough for Tony to see the flush crawling across his neck. The way his cheeks were dyed pink. He swallowed.

It took a lifetime for Steve to slowly, painfully make his way across the room. Tony stayed where he was, finally taking Pepper's advice. If he'd had Steve's strength, the table would've had twin sets of finger dents in the metal by the time Steve got close.

Close.

Understatement.

Tony stayed stock still as Steve reached out a hesitant hand, tracing his fingers feather lightly across his jawline, down his neck, and resting them against Tony's collarbone. His hand rose and fell with Tony's breaths.

This better have meant what Tony fucking thought it meant. He was too stunned to ask. Afraid of breaking the calm tension that had settled over them. And Steve... he looked so intent, his brow furrowed in thought, as if he were trying to remember points on a map instead of teasing Tony with his fingertips.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Steve said suddenly, and Tony's heart sank, filled quickly after by irritation. How could he say something like that with his hand still pressed against him? Talk about mixed signals. "But..."

"But?" Tony pounced on the word.

Steve took a deep breath.

"But I'm sick of looking back. Sick of regretting the things I didn't do," Steve's voice got quiet, and Tony knew he wasn't talking about the current century. "Things I'll never have a chance to do." His hand dipped lower, tentatively tracing the edge of Tony's lifeline: the glowing circle that kept his heart pumping. Steve cleared his throat and retracted his hand, and Tony caught it, rubbing his fingers across Steve's palm soothingly. Steve's wide eyes bashfully met his, as if their hands meeting had been the most embarrassing thing they'd done yet.

"I can't promise you won't regret it anyway," Tony said, in spite of himself, wondering if the heartbeat in his fingertips was Steve's or his own. Maybe both.

"Oh, well. In that case, let's just stay friends," Steve said, a smile breaking out across his face.

"What?" Tony scoffed, grabbing hold of Steve's shirt with his free hand and dragging him closer. "Screw that."

"But seriously, Tony," Steve said, his smile dropping as he hovered less than a foot away. The words ghosted across Tony's face in warm bursts. "This isn't a good idea. If I change my mind later..."

"Then you change your mind," Tony shrugged. "We're all adults here, Cap. Free will and all that jazz. In a way, it's the most American thing you can do." Steve raised an eyebrow, but allowed himself to be pulled even closer, the outsides of his legs brushing against the insides of Tony's knees. Steve glanced down at the contact, as if only just realizing their positions.

"I guess I just-" he started hurriedly, a flush crawling up his neck.

" _Cap_ ," Tony interrupted, and Steve's gaze flicked back up to him, his pupils so wide, Tony could practically see himself in them. "Shut up and kiss me already."

"Oh," Steve breathed, swallowing. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> Kidding, kidding! But if you don't like hanky panky, this is probably the ending for you. (I hope, anyway... Everyone pray tonight that my sexytiems!muse stays at the top of his game!)


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanky panky. You been warned.

Tony kept his grip loose on Steve's shirt and waited patiently for him to creep across that small space, eyes sinking down, half-lidded and gorgeous, to stare at Tony's mouth, before closing entirely. It would be weird if Tony watched, right?

Probably.

Yeah.

Damn.

Steve's lips brushed lightly across his, tickling the hair on his upper lip, and he regretfully let his eyes fall closed. Hopefully, he'd have plenty of opportunities in the future to admire Steve's visage from this distance.

Steve's kiss was as sensual as it was hesitant. His movements were slow and focused, tracing every tiny fold in Tony's lips. He didn't seem to know what to do (which was, for the record, fucking adorable), but he didn't seem to have a problem exploring. Still, it felt like he was thinking too much. Tony let his fingers slide from Steve's palm and trailed both hands down to rest on his waist, rubbing slow, short lines between his hips and his ribcage. Steve sucked air, pressing more firmly against Tony's mouth. It still didn't feel incredibly urgent. More like he'd just lost his balance.

He grinned into the kiss, flicking his tongue out suggestively. Steve's lips parted to him immediately, his own tongue darting out to touch tips in an electric greeting. He hadn't forgotten. Tony kept his touches feather light, coaxing Steve past his teeth, across their lips, back into his mouth. Once there, he felt Steve tense in his grip, as if only just realizing what he'd done, and Tony massaged abstract patterns soothingly into his sides. When he'd relaxed a little, Tony felt him resume his exploration, running his touch tentatively down the sides of Tony's molars and across the roof of his mouth. See, he could wait. Take it slow. Tony stroked the side of his tongue encouragingly, and Steve made a surprised noise that went straight to his groin. Steve's hands finally found their way to him, fumbling across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, stopping right as they entered his hairline. Steve pulled him in tighter, kissing him hard, and Tony felt that idea fly out the window.

Steve's tongue was already in his mouth. Maybe he would give him access to other parts later, but for now, Tony could at least give him a preview. He sucked hard, and then eased up, licking intricate patterns into the sides of his tongue before repeating the motion. Steve sank immediately into him, making a low, insistent sound, his fingers curling against Tony's hair as he worked his mouth, sucking and licking at the sensitive muscle. Too quickly, Steve broke away, letting one hand slide down to the table next to Tony as he blinked unseeingly at the edge of the room. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and Tony could see the beginnings of a good time taking shape between his legs.

"Too fast?" Tony asked, forcefully tearing his eyes from Steve's zipper line and refocusing on his face.

Steve, surprisingly, shook his head. "No, it's okay."

Tony leaned forward, pressing kisses along his jawline and down his neck. He made his way back up again, pausing at Steve's ear and purring darkly, "Then what's the hold up?" Steve's breath hitched, and Tony felt the remaining hand on the back of his neck twitch. But he didn't answer. Tony pulled back, reaching behind his head and taking hold of the hand that had been trying to disappear into his hairline. "It's okay, take your time. I'm sure I can entertain myself somehow." Steve's eyes swiveled over to him, confused, and Tony grinned impishly at him, dragging his catch back around to his mouth and licking at his finger pads. Steve's eyes darkened. Tony drew one finger into his mouth, nibbling briefly, and then slowly resumed the attention he'd been giving Steve's mouth.

" _Fuck_ ," Steve hissed, yanking his hand away and spinning in a full circle to face the other direction. Tony used his grip on Steve's hips to pull himself off the table, kissing along the point where his neck and shoulders met.

"Talk to me," he coaxed, resisting the urge to flatten himself against Steve's backside. Probably not a good idea, as tempting as it was.

"It's just... too much," Steve said cryptically, and Tony's hands slid to clasp together in the front, hugging Steve to him. "I can't..."

"You wanna take a break?" Tony asked, forcing the words out. Long haul, Tony. Big picture.

"Yes... No... I don't know," Steve shook his head, and Tony's brow furrowed. That was probably a yes.

"What're we talking about here?" Tony asked, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder.

"I don't think I can keep from..." he broke off, and Tony watched his ears slowly start turning red again. "You know..."

Tony felt amusement bubbling up in his chest, which he very smartly kept to himself. "Coming?"

Steve tensed in his grip, and Tony knew he'd hit the nail on the head. He chuckled, nibbling at the open skin above Steve's t-shirt. Steve was worried about his body actually reacting? That was just... fucking delicious. It sent a thrill straight through him. What exactly was Steve expecting to happen here?

"You know," he purred, "those moves earlier... They weren't meant for your fingers." He paused, grinning. "Or your tongue."

"What?" Steve asked, confused. Tony let one of his hands dip lower, slowly tracing a line down Steve's stomach, his abdomen, the line of his jeans, and there they lingered. Steve had tensed so much, he felt like a six foot statue of himself. He really hadn't known it would go this far? Or maybe he just hadn't expected it to go this far _today_ , but Tony wasn't one to dilly dally.

"Tell me to stop, and I'll stop," Tony said, toying with the seam of his pants.

There was a long, breath-filled pause, and then Steve shook his head, "No, it's okay."

Tony immediately let his hand sink lower, cupping him through his jeans, and Steve breathed in sharply. He easily filled Tony's palm, and Tony bit his lip, feeling his own need twitch in too small a space. Tony began stroking him through the fabric, and Steve's head fell forward, his entire body stiffening as he tried to resist undulating into the pressure.

"If you think this feels good," Tony murmured into his ear, switching up the rhythm and doing several quick, sporadic strokes. Steve made a strangled sound, his hips bucking. "Wait till I get my mouth around you. You can't even imagine. Tight and wet, sucking at your co-"

" _Fuck,_ Tony!" Steve interjected, and Tony wasn't sure if Steve was too embarrassed or too turned on to let him continue. Probably both. He licked his lips, his own skin hot, and pulled his hand away to let Steve recover. In the blink of an eye, Steve caught it, his fingers tight around Tony's wrist as he turned, pushing him back against the table.

Without his suit, Tony didn't stand a chance. Their hips slid together by accident, and Steve's swollen member rubbed harshly against Tony's, making them both gasp. Tony bucked his hips invitingly, earning another tight moan from Steve before the Captain caught his lips. He didn't back away, though, and Tony wrestled his hand free, bringing both hands down to Steve's ass and grinding their pelvises together. Steve moaned throatily, and then pushed Tony up onto the table, his hands grasping at Tony's thighs as they parted to allow more friction. Yeah. This was happening.

Tony let go of Steve's ass to tug the man's shirt up over his head, and they broke their frantic kiss just long enough to wrestle off Tony's, as well. Tony scraped his nails down Steve's abs and hooked his fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the button until it popped open. Second base. Nearly home. Steve buried his face in Tony's neck as he unzipped him, kissing at his flushed skin. Tony's hand disappeared into the front of his jeans, and Steve's hips bucked, his muscles tensing.

"Tony," he breathed, leaning his forehead against Tony's shoulder as Tony's fingers glided across silky skin. He gently eased the tortured flesh from its confines as he slid Steve's pants down around his thighs. Unfortunately, in this position, Tony couldn't see a damn thing, which wasn't going to cut it. He pushed on Steve's chest, forcing him back, and kissed him hard when that way-too-fucking-cute confused expression popped up again. When he felt Steve was properly reassured, Tony pulled back again, his eyes ghosting down to the weight in his palm. Steve's grip tightened around Tony's thighs, his skin flushing darker. He would have to get over this embarrassment sooner or later, because Tony wasn't going to come away from this without at least a decent eyeful of his cock.

And it certainly didn't disappoint.

Tony wrapped his fingers around it, stroking slowly from base to tip with firm, even pressure, and Steve's breath hitched, his fingers clenching involuntarily. He was rock hard, and he was cut, which wasn't surprising, given Steve's time period and background. When Tony got to the tip, he dragged his thumb across it, smearing precum across the glans, and then made his way back down to the base for another sweep. Steve caught his hand, and Tony looked up at him.

"You know, I'm feeling a bit lonely here," he said roughly. His face was flushed, but there was something playful in his eyes.

Tony grinned and opened his legs an inch wider, raising his eyebrows invitingly. Steve sucked in a breath, his gaze falling back down to Tony's crotch, where a decently-sized tent had risen. He released Tony's hand, and Tony stroked him absently as Steve's fingers fumbled with his zipper. When he finally got it open, Tony kicked off his shoes and helped him work his pants off, his own cock popping up proudly in a nest of black curls. Steve stared at it a while, and Tony watched him hungrily as he tried to decide what to do.

"It's like a puppy, Steve," Tony offered his boy scout helpfully. Steve's eyes flickered to him in confusion, then understanding, then amused exasperation.

"Funny," he said, but his mouth had turned up on the edges. Tony grinned, and then bit his lip when Steve's fingers wrapped themselves around him, giving him an experimental pull.

"See? You got this," Tony said breathlessly after the third or sixth tug (his brain had stopped working somewhere in there). "Now, you wanna try something fun?" Steve looked at him dubiously.

"I'm already having fun," Steve said, giving him a slow pull that made Tony's eyes roll back.

"Fuck... I mean _really_ fun," Tony said hoarsely, putting his hand over Steve's to still it. Because he was already toeing the line of "getting close," and as hard as Steve was, he definitely wasn't going to last much longer. He leaned over, pulling some lotion from one of the table drawers, and squirted a generous amount into his palm. "Have you ever fucked a guy, Steve?"

If possible, and that was really reaching by this point, Steve turned even more red.

"Of course not," he managed to get out, looking both incredibly confused and incredibly curious. "How...?"

"Well, it doesn't sound very pretty in theory, but in practice..." Tony trailed off suggestively, biting his lip as he reached down and slid one finger into himself. He wasn't entirely sure that Steve's superhuman muscle power would actually allow their roles to be reversed, and he didn't want to risk it on their first time. That was an experiment for another day.

Steve's eyes trailed down, widening when they reached their mark.

"Is that..." he frowned, gaze flicking back up. "I mean, that doesn't look very... Is that sanitary?"

"It's dirty in all the good ways, and clean in all the others," Tony assured him, grinning as he slipped in a second finger. God, it had been too long. Pepper didn't seem interested in topping, which was a damned shame. He opened his legs wider, leaning back on one arm as he stretched himself. "Trust me. I've been tested for everything under the sun. And-" he added a third finger, his head slipping back as he fought through the slow burn. "And," he breathed heavily, looking down to see that Steve's cock was not only at the ready, but was dripping slowly onto the floor, "believe it or not, I'm usually a very clean person."

"I believe it," Steve nodded, his voice sounding detached as he watched Tony's fingers move inside himself. "So... I'm going to..." He trailed off, his eyebrows flicking up briefly as he took in the concept.

"Fuck me," Tony finished, licking his lips. He grinned as Steve looked back at him, breathing hard. "Are we moving too fast?"

Steve stepped forward, catching his lips again for a sweet moment, and Tony thought that was a pretty decent answer. He made the lotion bottle cough up its last remaining drops and lathered it onto Steve's straining member, Steve standing stock still as he watched. Or, maybe, trying not to blow his load prematurely. Tony admired the effort, even if it wouldn't save him for long. He was pretty sure Steve had never been with _anybody_ before, as awkward as he was, so staying power wasn't exactly expected.

"Okay, Cap. Your turn," Tony breathed, leaning back on his arms and pulling his legs up around Steve's sides. Steve nodded, looping one hand under Tony's thigh like a regular pro and guiding himself in. "Slowly, slowly."

Steve went almost too slowly, if possible, and Tony felt himself stretching uncomfortably tight around the head of his cock. And then, slowly, the pressure easing as he pushed his way past.

"Fff...uck," Steve trembled, only halfway in, and Tony could see him trying hard to keep a lid on it.

"Picture your grandmother naked. Saggy boobs, granny panties, and all," Tony offered, and Steve scowled up at him. Worth a try.

Tony wrapped one leg around him, pulling him in closer faster, until he was buried to the hilt. They sat like that for a while, both breathing, Steve with a look of intense concentration on his face. "Come on, you can go faster now."

"I don't... know if I should..." Steve warned, his fingers tightening around Tony's leg.

"No choice. Come on, Steve," Tony insisted, wriggling. Steve hissed, pressing his free hand against Tony's hip to hold him down. "If you have two seconds left, you had better spend them fucking my brains out."

"Not helping," Steve growled, but he started moving anyway.

He moved slowly, but only for the first few seconds, and then rapidly began speeding up. Much more like it. Tony lowered himself down flat on the table with a throaty moan, pushing everything else off. He let his eyes fall closed, senses honing in on the slapping of skin, the pungent smell of sex, and the way Steve's cock moved inside him, filling him and rubbing against a surprising many of the right places. He let his hand drift down, stroking himself fast as Steve bent over him, his leg already bruising around Steve's fingers.

Too quickly, but far later than expected, he felt his partner tense. Tony's eyes flew open to watch. He tightened the ring of muscle around his entrance, and when Steve pushed in again, it was with a curse, his jaw tight, his hair standing up in every direction. Steve moaned and bowed over him, eyes closed, his muscles pulsing rhythmically as he spent himself. Tony watched as he felt Steve's release, jets of warmth spilling uselessly into him.

As Steve began to relax and pull away, Tony resumed stroking himself, letting his eyes fall closed again. One of Steve's hands wormed its way over to lend itself, and Tony smiled, dropping his hand off to the side. Steve stroked him with sure, firm strokes. Nothing flowery. It wasn't the most theatrical, but it certainly wasn't stupid. Soon, Tony found himself writhing on the table, one leg hooked up around Steve's shoulder, arching into that utilitarian touch.

"Fuck, Steve!" he choked out, when Steve altered the pace yet another time, just as he was hanging on the edge.

"Sorry," Steve said, but he didn't sound incredibly sorry. He sounded calm and spent, just like Tony wanted to be, goddamn it. The hand that wasn't servicing him made a broad sweep across his chest, fingers playing at the edges of the glowing ring in Tony's chest, and down his abdomen. "You look good like this."

"I look good afterward, too!" Tony spat.

"Do you?" Steve asked cheekily, and Tony bared his teeth at him. Laughing, Steve increased the pace. Tony was half afraid that he'd switch it up at the last minute again, and was tempted to let him know that that was, actually, a form of torture, but Steve kept it up. His orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, all the harder because it was unexpected, and he arched into Steve's fist, his hands flying up to grasp at the dirty-blond's shoulders.

When his vision finally cleared, Steve was still running his fingers lightly across his near-flaccid cock, sending jolts up the too-sensitive organ. He tugged Steve's hand away, sitting up too fast, and then had to wait a few moments longer for the world to come back into focus again. Steve kissed him just as he stopped feeling dizzy, cupping his face with one hand and running his thumb across Tony's jawline. It was sweet and sure, and not the slightest bit hesitant. Steve wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him close in a way that wasn't the slightest bit sexual... at least, not for at least another twenty minutes or so. It was just... nice. Warm. Safe. When he pulled away, Tony felt dizzy for an entirely different set of reasons.

Steve stared at him a while, and then smiled again. "Yeah, I guess you do."

"Damn straight," Tony scoffed, feeling his face heating up strangely. He pushed off the table, pulling on his clothes, and watched as Steve began to do the same.

"So," Steve said, once they were both fully covered, tugging his shirt down around his hips to try and smooth out the wrinkles. "What now?"

Tony looked around at the mess they'd made. At all the work that needed to be done. At his suit, which he still hadn't put away from the day before.

He raised an eyebrow at Steve, "Zoo?"

Steve smiled broadly, nodding, "Zoo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *FLOPS*
> 
> Oh dear muse, thank you for this fic that you have given me to share.  
> Honestly, this is the first story of this length that I've ever finished. Kinda sad, I know. Thank you guys SO MUCH for your kudos and sweet, sweet comments, without which I would've given up on this.
> 
> And thanks to 750words.com, which kept me motivated to write every day.
> 
> Also, there might be an epilogue. Yep. Maybe.


	32. Chapter 32

"Hey, Stevens. They're back."

Pale hands danced over the keyboard, honing in on the camera that had caught its first glimpse of the pair.

"Where are they?" asked Agent Stevens, pushing himself away from his workstation and rolling his chair over to his partner's cluttered desk.

"The monkey house," said the first man, squinting at the screen.

"Is that supposed to be a metaphor for something?" Stevens frowned, adjusting his glasses and leaning on his elbows to look at the fuzzy footage.

"Nope. They're actually in the monkey house. At the zoo."

"God," Stevens ran a hand across his tired face. "What next. Museums? Don't these guys ever do anything fun?"

"What, like take down an army of aliens?" the first guy grinned, zooming in further on the film. Stark was pointing at something off-camera, laughing. Rogers looked less amused. The agent leaned over his com, nudging the line open. "Agent McMurray. Giles. They're five blocks south of you at the zoo. Monkey house."

"Roger that, Agent Tagert. On our way."

Tagert sat back, but quickly leaned forward again, narrowing his eyes at the screen. Stevens, who had begun sliding back over to his desk, paused.

"Aliens?" he asked, creeping slowly back over.

"Nnnope..." Tagert shook his head slowly, but continued to watch.

"What is it, then?" he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. It could be a threat to national security, after all. Or something.

"Hey, Stevens..." Tagert said slowly, hitting a few keys that cleared up the picture somewhat. "Do you think they're... you know... fucking?" Stevens opened his mouth to speculate, but was interrupted.

"Who's fucking?" came a clear, controlled voice from the back of the room, and Stevens shot quickly back to his own station, pretending to be working on something incredibly important. So important that, when the new arrival made his way over to Tagert's station, bending over and peering over his shoulder, Stevens didn't even spare a glance. The new agent straightened up again, wincing as the movement caused some discomfort in his chest.

"Stark has been hacking into our surveillance," Tagert said, desperately hoping to change the subject.

"That's old news," said the agent.

"He's extended this to cover Rogers, sir," Tagert reported, trying to keep his voice professional.

"So that means they're sleeping together?" the agent asked, and Tagert wasn't sure if he was being playful or not. It was hard to tell sometimes with him. Probably not.

"Uh... no, sir. Of course not, sir. They could just be good friends... sir," Tagert swallowed.

"So why the comment?"

Stevens shot him a glance, and Tagert sat up even straighter.

"Well?"

"I... uh... just now... was doing surveillance of the two, and believe to have seen Mr. Stark... grab... Mr. Roger's backside... sir." Up until this point, Tagert was 100% positive that he'd never have to say that particular phrase to a superior. Ever. He certainly hadn't planned on putting it in his report.

"Well," the agent grinned, and Tagert looked at him, perplexed. "Stark is a very friendly person."

"Yes, sir," Tagert agreed, nodding. The agent put a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Tagert felt the weight of the government resting upon him. He shivered.

"If you see anything else of grave importance, you be sure and let me know, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

The agent walked back out of the room, rubbing his sternum gingerly. Once he'd disappeared around the corner, both agents breathed audibly.

Stevens shook his head, "Come on, man. Everyone knows Stark is a flirt. You gonna get us fired over that?"

Tagert chewed his lip a moment, and then motioned him over. Stevens glanced at the door, which had returned to its dark, quiet state, and then slid over. Tagert, afraid to say anything further, simply replayed the tape.

Which showed, quite clearly, Stark grabbing Rogers ass.

And then, also clearly, Rogers leaning over and doing something very not platonic to his neck.

Stevens and Tagert looked at each other a moment, and then Stevens nodded. "Definitely."

"Should I put it in the report?" Tagert whispered.

Stevens shook his head emphatically, sliding back to his station. "You want your name at the bottom when Stark hacks into that file?" Tagert turned, if possible, even paler. "Exactly. Let McMurray and Giles deal with that one."

Tagert pushed a couple more buttons, and the screen returned to its previously fuzzy appearance, where he could just barely make out that they _were_ Stark and Rogers. He let out a deep, rattling breath. Yes, that way was much safer.


End file.
